Sympathy for the Devil
by cdewinter78
Summary: Caleb Reaves had known about his family's tainted past since he was twelve and Daniel Elkins tried to end the bloodline permanently. Now someone else is attempting to succeed where Elkins failed. Using Ridley and Tida's Brotherhood AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"_Pleased to meet you/ Hope you guess me name._

_But what's puzzling you, / Is the nature of my game." Sympathy for the Devil –Rolling Stones._

Griffin Porter grimaced as he crossed the final train track. What he was looking for could only be found on the flipside of all that he had strived to stand for. But he could not lament that now; there was work to be done. If one had to soil ones hands in order to extract the weeds in the Garden of Eden –so be it.

_Literally, on the wrong side of the tracks now Old Man_, he told him self by way of bolstering his flagging resolve.

The heat of an early summer scorched the red toned Mississippi sands of Tchula. Though this ramshackle part of town was poorer than the dirt it slumped upon, the individual he sought here lifted its importance in Porter's eyes, enormously. He was a man on a mission and the key to its success lay here amidst the dust, and the dirt, and the flies. He firmly believed that if he failed, one of mankind's last Bastions of hope against the drawing darkness went with him.

The Brotherhood; a clandestine organization that specialized in hunting down and eliminating threats to humankind from the Supernatural world, had been his families calling for many decades. He had taken on the mantel from an early age, quickly gaining in reputation due mostly to his advanced research skills and considerable Psychic talent. Though he was admittedly no Rambo in the physical arena of hunting; Porter had been one of the youngest hunters to gain the coveted silver ring, which marked you as a full fledged member of the Brotherhood. He had been just 23 when Julian himself, the Guardian (and leader) of the order had conferred that honor on him.

_How quickly things had changed!_ Porter gripped sourly to himself.

Just a few decades later, Julian would deny Griffin the position that he had practically been born into! It was the duty of the Guardian to choose his successor. It had been Julian's duty to protect the heritage of the order. To select from the recognized proven vanguard, who had served faithfully through generations of Blood and Loyalty.

Instead the misguided old fool had picked his favorite stray – James Murphy. Murphy was like a beggar at the gates, or the pauper mistaken for the Prince in Porter's opinion; just not eligible for the high honor given him. How could Murphy have possibly looked like the best choice??!!! But even if Porter had been wrong about **Pastor Jim**; the softhearted cleric had proven his lack of sense and Brotherhood etiquette in his first official act. Murphy's choice of Knight and Scholar (the other two most high ranking offices in the order's hierarchy) had been obscene farces, that flew in the face of all the traditions of his beloved Institution. As if to enlarge the wound some more, Murphy had passed up Porter for the lowlier, but still vital role of Scholar. The position fell well within Griffin's expertise and the transition would have been near seamless, as he had already embarked on research and intelligence projects with many influential Hunters. Now in his place was a spoilt socialite named Mackland Ames! And equally insulting, though not nearly as important (except to the prestige of the order of course!) John Win-someone as the Knight, was preposterous!!! The man had barely been inducted at the time, it had Griffin worried back then, he feared that next some random postal worker would be raised to Advisor!!! But recent developments regarding the possible next generation of Triad, had forced Griffin to act.

The disgruntled Hunter suddenly became aware that passers-by were giving him a wide berth, or crossing the street to entirely avoid him. He smiled grimly realizing, he had been snarling while he'd lost himself in the disturbing history of the Brotherhoods last five years. Well couldn't expect the lambs to understand the burdens of the Shepherd could you? Finally he found himself in front of the non-descript house his quarry lived in. It was marginally better than a rock -time to see who crawled out.

Porter's knock was firm, better to start out by letting her know he was not in awe of her supposed lineage. Verity LeHarve was just another 'bone-conjurer' as the Good Book labeled them, albeit a powerful one. It was left to speculation at this point, exactly how Verity gained her strength – some of the rituals from the classical era of her craft, were of the blackest magic. If examined at too closely this woman might begin to look more like legitimate prey for a Hunter, rather than a necessary evil required to remove an abomination. He would have to decide later exactly how wide of the margin Variety's practices carried her – but for now, she would serve the greater good. Even if she didn't know it.

Verity answered the door wordlessly, swinging it wide for him to enter. As he passed the threshold Porter shivered violently. He frowned but kept walking through the dark lit hallway with dusty tapestries hanging on either side. She was dressed plainly in dark brown skirts of many layers and an embroidered billowy shirt. Her appearance was equally non-descript, dirty blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders and dark brown eyes that didn't linger too long, but no doubt took in everything. Average height, weight and 30 something age finished this drab creature. Could this possibly be the descendent of the Biblically famed Witch of Endor – or a less glamorous Carney Romany?

As she sat behind a short end card table decked with a too large lace covering, frayed and yellowing at the edges; he wondered if someone he had paid for this Intel, hadn't been merely looking for quick money. He took the other chair gingerly unsure of what the dark stains on the back might be.

"Squeamish for a Hunter aren't you Mr. Porter? And yes I am the direct descendent of King Saul's advisor … please don't mention those gipsy vermin under my roof again … don't even think on them!"

Porter started, had she just read him – as a fairly strong Psychic that was damn near impossible without his detection!

"No I have no need for mind games – my family advanced beyond that some centuries ago, when certain…" She looked at him searchingly "entities, attached themselves to my line permanently, their sight transcends… ours."

"Ghosts or Demons – think carefully before you answer Verity?" Porter asked sternly.

Her laugh was rich and irritating – she was not put off by his insolent familiarity, in fact she exuded confidence. "Or what Griffin – you will_**hunt**_ me? Come now – you have bigger fish to fry don't you? More immediate demonic threats to your precious Boys club than my – colleagues?"

"Mind your tongue – or _**my colleagues**_ can arrange for it to be removed!" Porter growled. Beginning to wonder a little at the 'brilliance' of this plan.

Her face was indifferent as she purred. "And yet your fearsome friends don't seem to be with you on your little crusade to remove the Devil from the High table, no?"

Schooling his features quickly, Griffin began to raise his mental blocks and prepare to leave the spider's liar. "Are you threatening me Necromancer?" he spat.

She watched him levelly without saying a word for a long minute. Her head tilted to one side, as if listening. Porter could not repress the shiver that told him; they were not alone in the room.

"I can see" she said in a more demure tone "that I have given offence. This was not my intention. In truth ever since I heard about your visit, I have been keen to enlist your aid – even as you seek my assistance …"

"I don't make deals with Devils." He stated offhandly.

Her features darkened, but her voice remained milk and honey. "Not everything in the Supernatural world is Black and white – take your young demonic half-breed for instance – his future…"

"Does not interest me either … it is the unholy influence he has on the present that concerns me. I gather you have been – informed -that the Mongrel in question stands very closely to the highest seats of power in my organization? You do confirm that he is not wholly human then?"

"I can – if you can guarantee my anonymity and immunity from pursuit by your fellow Hunters… is that within your sphere of influence Griffin Porter?"

The slightly taunting smugness in her tone bothered him greatly, but he reminded himself what was at stake.

"My fellow Hunters will not bother you Verity" Porter asserted simply. "Now for your part, I need assurances that whatever measures you deem necessary to eliminate the threat that Reaves presents to the Brotherhood, is not traceable to me."

She smiled then; an oily, knowing, sickly sweet, red stain that went against the grain of her pallid face. It had him fighting the urge to stand up and end her existence right then.

"You would wash your hands before you even glimpse the deed? How are you so certain that I will accomplish your desired outcome?"

"I _**trust**_ in your ability to curtail one of your own Verity." Griffin asserted.

"Oh he is **not** like us at all. But his ancestry is polluted that is a certainty… in his mind at least. In truth there are more than a few volunteers from the other side prepared to aid in a reckoning involving Noah Seaver's heir. My art is made easier when the subject leaves the keys to his own destruction out in the open, as it were."

Licking his lips, Porter gave into the researcher in him. "For curiosity sake – what do your "arts" entail on this occasion?"

She smiled the stomach turning grimace again. "I would lend some, to your factions stolen learning … but not specifics … it is as you surmised – in my case the adage about the inquiring cat is all too literal. With the help of my associates, the Young Mr. Reaves will succumb to either; Will manipulation or the illusions drawn from a past he despises more than anything else on earth. He hates that which gives him life – his own life's blood, and there are many spirits who are inclined to agree with him. However – I also sense a certain resilience in him that has overcome many dark hours, he is no easy target."

Porter's face was granite, as thoughts of the Demon spawned youth now rumored to be a strong contender against one of his own pupil's for the position of Future Knight, pooled and collected. How much more could the Brotherhood endure before being ripped apart from within? If Murphy actually intended to give this demon spawned half-bred the keys to the kingdom, it was time to consider if the Yellow Eyed abomination was not already making his move against the one force that could stop him, using its very own custom made vassal – Caleb Reaves. History would not repeat itself.

"Ms LeHarve the time has come to ensure there is no dawn after the darkness for Reaves – for the sake of the greater good."

"Oh no Griffin" she purred adding extra syllables to his name that made his skin crawl. "The secret to that young man's undoing is not to bring him down into the darkness … but to drag his soul into the scorching light of truth."

Griffin recoiled as Verity LeHarve's eyes began to grow lighter, the irises literally melting their color away to be replaced by a glowing amber golden color that belonged in another face.

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_Blue Earth Minnesota_.

Caleb Reaves watched the other Hunter's round Jim Murphy's kitchen table carefully. The nature of their work ensured they all had above average Poker faces – but the one to watch was Jim himself. The good-natured clergyman always took his Priests Collar off when he sat down to cards, as Caleb eyed his woefully depleted stack of pretzels (the only "riches" Jim would allow them to play for) he did not need his abilities to understand why.

"Your move Junior – quit chewing on you nails like a panty lace and … put out!!!" the rarely heard humor in the voice of his dark haired mentor really bugged Caleb right now.

Bobby Singer erupted into a hale of laughter on his left – but was soon choking off his mirth following a quick look from Jim with a grumbled "There should be an age at which you cut the apron strings…"

"What was that Robert?" Jim queried almost musically "You want to bank roll Caleb's hand for this round – that's awfully charitable of you seeing as you and John drew him into this game with more than a little coercion."

Bobby pulled down his trademark grubby trucker's hat over his opinion of Jim's praise – but Caleb reaped a neat pile of Pretzels nevertheless.

John laughed harder. "You are not suggesting we are leading Mackland's only, sweet, pure, innocent child astray, are you Jim?!"

The Ex-marines face was transformed from its normal brooding set into the man Caleb imagined proposed to Mary Winchester eleven years ago. His brown eyes complimented his low maintenance, rugged looks.

Caleb threw John a lopsided grin before wiping the smile off the older Hunter's face as his cards hit the table.

"Sweet and innocent my ass Johnny – I was hustling courts clerks and officer types out of their donut money by the time I was Dean's age" The cocky 18 year old threw a brief apologetic look at Jim "You and Huck Finn there should consider the experience of the prey you bring to the pot next time you try to feast off us young-ins!"

"When did he become so damn disagreeable John?" Bobby gripped.

Slinging his cards at the table and stretching, John held back a yawn. "About the time he learned to talk I reckon."

Jim chuckled as he got up to clear the cobbler dishes as Bobby shuffled. Caleb jumped up to help the Pastor. As he followed him to the ample double sink he leaned in to Jim confidentially.

"Do you think they will invite me to play again Jim?" Caleb questioned quietly.

"I am sure you present a challenge to their skills my boy – though I am not sure you should be too disappointed if your Father is the more popular member of your family at the card table." Jim whispered back.

"It's ok I'm used to the social outcast label – it works for me." Caleb smiled a little ruefully.

Jim frowned as he turned to pick up a bowl to scrub.

"Things not going so well at the new school?" he asked innocently, but low enough to get under the radar of the other two men.

Caleb scrubbed a little more fiercely than necessary. "I graduate soon Jim – what do I care?"

Reaves knew he was being unnecessarily prickly with entirely the wrong audience – but he was feeling a little beleaguered currently, with his Father insisting he finish High School with the same group of snotty, Prep school brats, he wanted to beat the tar out of. His restraint alone should have been enough for his adoptive Father. But no, he had to go take the high ground – when all he really wanted was to burn his school tie and trade in for the hunters …

Unbidden a burning sensation ignited behind his eyes. He grasped the heavy worktop for balance. Luckily Jim had not noticed, as he was currently arbitrating between some random snipping between John and Bobby, by the Kitchen table. Caleb drew in a silent calming breath – tension headaches were a bitch! The young psychic knew this was not a vision as he would have been on the ground by now. His "gift" of seeing future heinous acts through the eyes of the perpetrator took its toll on him with brutal speed. He was often left reeling at best, incapacitated within seconds, at worst. Damn school – damn cliques … who gave a shit about…

The bowl slipped from his hand smashing on the ground, as the heat behind his eyes went from Grill to BBQ. Caleb avoided the three sets of stares from the other side of the room by apologizing in an even voice as he bent to pick up the shattered crockery.

His plan failed as he felt a sharp slicing sensation clip his right index finger.

"Damn it" he cursed even as Jim Murphy reached him and took over the clean up detail.

The Pastor was about to bend down and pick up the offending piece of his earthenware crockery which still had Caleb's blood on it, when the young man grabbed his wrist with his good hand.

"Don't touch that!" Caleb urged with a hint of panic that surprised even himself. "You might cut yourself too …" he lamely recovered "I already owe you a bowl Pastor Jim."

Jim smiled slightly bemusedly at the boy before him.

"Thank you son, but I have had worse – besides, gives me the excuse I need to buy new ones – maybe Samuel's coveted plastic Ninja Turtle bowls – what do you think?"

Caleb smiled brightly, whilst clearing the shards quickly. He didn't answer as he concentrated on keeping his balance while the pain in his head showed no signs of letting up.

"I am a little beat for the day Jim" he announced loudly enough for the other two to hear "and I have that little country ramble John picked out for us to be getting on with at the crack of dawn tomorrow."

"Of course – sleep well Caleb." Jim answered automatically with a warm smile.

Caleb had the feeling that a good night's sleep might still be an hour or so away, but he didn't want the other's to witness his descent into Clumsy-Ville, that this migraine seemed to be bringing with it. As he ascended the stairs a shiver ran through him so violently, that it stole his breath and had him grasping for the banister.

_Oh joy! All day maneuvers at the Winchester boot camp were always so much more character building with a cold!!! With any luck he could cough up something gross enough to convince his Jarhead mentor the clean up just would __**not**__ be worth it. Knowing his luck, what he coughed up… would probably turn out to be a lung!! Damn but this headache was making him cranky! _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"_I thought I was in heaven, but I was sure surprised. / Heaven Help me, I didn't see the devil in your eyes." Devil in Disguise – Elvis. _

Fresh air, wafted the warm mid-summer Southern breeze, carrying the odour of picnics and grass and hayrides; the promise of all things restful. The sky was a glorious crisp blue with no cloud occlusions. Though the sun warmed her back as she walked with her hand in her mothers, it had not quite reached its zenith, so was not the uncomfortable inside oven temperature just yet. She examined the small white building they were approaching idly; while their Preacher gave his sermon she would have plenty of time on her hands. Pastor Seaver was filled with the zeal of God Momma said – she wasn't sure about where the "zeal" came from… but it sure went on and on! She knew it was wrong to think that way, but her and Tommy Fredrickson both agreed that if the words of the sermon were smaller, they might listen longer! Maybe? She also knew what her Momma would say to that …. Tommy Fredrickson would have a real comfy spot right next to her - burning in hellfire, for such thinking!!!!

"Cecile?" a clear slightly impatient voice cut through her train of thought "Where you planning on staying on the steps of the church throughout the service?"

Looking up she caught her Momma's tight lipped expression, out of the corner of her eye she saw Mrs Armbrewster's large frame waiting to mount the steps behind them. She knew Momma was not fond of the middle-aged town gossip. She and the ladies of her uppity sowing circle had turned down Momma's offer for help making the new Church banner for the Autumn Fair last year, saying that her "style" was a bit too modern. Momma had tried to hide how hard she had cried, and Daddy's face had been so angry that Cecile half hopped he **would **go round and give that awful Nancy Armbrewster , a piece of his mind- enough to choke the large heifer!!

"Sorry Momma, I was just thinking was all" she replied after what she hopped wasn't too long.

Behind her the Armbrewster woman huffed loudly and commented to her twig like husband about; _young people these days having far too much time on their hands to think up mischief and then act on it!_

"I can't help thinking how great the Lord is when I walk up to the Church Momma – I look forward to Pastor Seaver's sermon so much, I try to remember the last one – just to hold off my impatience … cause you said that was unbecoming a young Lady didn't you Momma?" Cecile gushed breathlessly.

Her Mother remained expressionless and the Nit picking Nancy coughed loudly behind her as if she swallowed a fly … chance would be a fine thing! After pausing to accept a fan from the usher by the door, Momma stopped just long enough to allow the couple behind to go ahead, before she leaned into Cecile and kept her voice very low.

"I swear child you have more nerve than a fox in a henhouse! But we **do not** use falsehoods when we are walking the steps to God's house young Lady!" her mother chided gently, her green eyes serious.

Cecile caught her tall, handsome Father's eye over her Mother's head, and fought hard not to snigger at the quick wink and approving smile he threw her, before returning to his former solemn, church going face.

"Yes Momma" she whispered back automatically.

She wasn't annoyed – Momma always tried to do what was right, Cecile and her Father would make sure others never took advantage of her Mother's good heart. So what if she got called out for it every now and then?! Papa understood!

They sat in their usual place off to the side of the main congregation's pews. Papa called it sitting on the sidelines. As she sat there she spotted Tommy Fredrickson scratching at the collar of his best shirt, only to have his hand slapped away and his top button forcibly re-done. Cecile smirked – that would teach him for making fun of the dress she currently wore. Never mind that the violet dress with the frills, was not to her liking either; her Momma had made it and he should have kept his big trap shut!!! Scuffing her shoes together she waited. Waited on the Preacher – waited on the heat, waited on her Mother's slight shove if she looked like dozing off… waited for something to happen.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Caleb tossed restlessly in the bed Jim reserved for him at the farm. His breathing was irregular and even in his dream state he felt like a weight was pushing him down, keeping him in the Land of Nod. His subconscious freaked a little at being taken captive – this was more absorbing than a vision. The discomfort of living behind someone else's eyes while they were attacked was no bedtime story, but he had never heard thoughts so fully, felt the emotions so clearly or been entwined with another soul so closely. Bad dream, Nightmare… too much cheese before bed? All he could do was suck it up and see this thing through.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Warm air – hot and suffocating washed the acrid smells of gasoline, smoke and burned flesh. The wrenched cries of the terrified churchgoers being slaughtered in their own place of worship echoed around her. Her Father's and Mother's arms circled her as they stooped low in the pews… hiding from the man God had elected, the man currently wielding the shot gun having already burned the church alter and locked the doors. How could this be happening? Where was God – where were his army of Angels that smote the wicked in the stories? Cecile's eyes railed against everything her brain had ever been taught – it was all a lie! The evil was here, inside God's house! He had killed Tommy – he had killed them all. There was nothing here to stop him – evil was too strong. She realised she had been screaming this whole time – her Mother's embrace was crushing her …it hardly seemed necessary as the Pastor couldn't very well single out one wretched cry from the red sea of wails, he had created in his own church! In the next instant; she was proved wrong.

The heavy oak pew flew to one side as if it were a skimmed pebble across a pond, exposing the last hiding place of the Dupree's. Cecil watched with a small disconnected part of her mind that wasn't engaged in pleading for their lives alongside her parents. Pastor Noah Seaver looked exactly the same – except his rich laughing Amber gold eyes, were twisted somehow. She realised they were no longer Amber, they were cold, hard, Yellow Gold orbs. Nor were they laughing with them anymore – they were menacingly laughing at them now. Even as he cocked his head – pausing as if to listen to her Father's broken begging, arms outstretched, stooped on his knees; Cecil knew he was toying with them. She had seen the Monsters eyes flick to her with a sickening light in them. He had already passed sentence on her family and all her instincts were telling her that; as it would cause the most amount of pain to her parents… she was first. As Seaver let her parents cry on – shakily building their false hope, she looked around her desperate for an escape route.

_I Don't want to Die!!!!_

Seaver's eye locked on the Dupree's only child like a magnet – and he barred his teeth in a reptilian smile.

"Too bad cupcake." he answered the unspoken thought.

Grabbing the child and hauling her bodily from her Mothers desperate clinging arms, and backhanding the Father so convincingly there was a pop of his jawbone, the Pastor hefted her up by her upper arm. The girl was scared beyond words, beyond thought – she flailed and fought against the vicelike grip he had on her, hitting herself as often as him. As he took a step towards a heartily roaring collection of front row pews, being devoured by flame, Cecile seemed to comprehend her fate and let loose one continuous scream that was unbroken even when he tossed her into the fires very heart. On and on went the cry, higher than all the other sounds – arching anguish that was carried heavenward by the smoke and the flames that destroyed her family. As the fire curled around her and the maddening pain blotted out all other thoughts her scream was the last part of her to extinguish.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He woke in a cold sweat. Gasping and clawing for release from the linen that he had become tangled in, during the course of his dark dreams. Heat! Fire! Screams! Disorientated and still breathless, he tried to suck in a lung full of air his hands flailing outwards trying to fend off the flames he felt ghosting against his skin. Caleb landed with a heavy thud on the ground on all fours, gasping and shaking. Every calming trick in the book was failing him and his body did the one thing left to it, to disengage from the nightmare that he still felt hostage to. The burning sensation started in his violently tuning stomach, he lurched forward blindly one arm slung round his midriff, the other grasping at the door handle. In his stumbling dash across the hallway he bumped someone's shoulder – hard. But he couldn't stop – he wouldn't make it. Finally reaching the bathroom, he slung himself at the porcelain throne just in time to vomit what felt like his entire digestive tract into it.

All sounds, all sensations except that of the unforgiving heaving motion his stomach muscles were twisting themselves into forming, were gone – blocked out by the need to purge himself of the memory of the heat, the taste of the smoke and the hideously sickly smell of burning flesh. He was still short of breath – and wasn't entirely sure how long he had been on his knees. But slowly he began to be aware of his surroundings. Jim's voice began to filter through the gasping, retching noise he was sure couldn't be him – and yet his clenching stomach muscles assured him he was mistaken. The Pastor felt close – in Caleb's personal space, and his immediate instinct was to shrink back a little.

"Easy Caleb" the clergyman's firm calming tones came to him.

It was now Caleb became aware of the Pastor's steadying grasp on his shoulders as he knelt beside him on the cold tile floor. Speech was still unachievable – when air wasn't an issue – choking on his own vomit was.

"Should we call a Dr out Jim?" Bobby's gruff voice rang out from a little further back, probably standing by the door. "I learned my lesson after the last Daddy Ames lecture – I ain't aiming to go out in no hissy fight with the Scholar!"

Caleb cursed to himself. Great - both Jim and Bobby were witness to his shameful cookie toss! Though Bobby was trying for bravado, his voice was shot through with worry. This was not good – he had to snap the hell out of this!!!

Gathering every ounce of will he had Caleb managed to croak.

"M' fine…"

Bobby's snorted response was slightly relieved. "Obviously Junior … you're the picture of health!"

Jim moved his hand to Caleb's back and began to rub calming circles, as the boy appeared more able to hold himself up. Frowning heavily he searched for the words that would convey his point, without adding to the young man's already agitated state. He had not missed the fact that Reaves still could not catch his breath.

"My boy, I think it best that we discover why this…" Jim began evenly.

"Shellfish …. Lunch … mild, allergy…." Caleb panted trying again to focus on his breathing – he needed to pull it the hell together or they were going to ship him to a hospital.

"Mild allergy my AS…." Bobby exploded indignantly.

"Robert!" Jim commanded sternly. "Caleb, Roberts right about the seriousness of this – are you sure about this – allergy… does you're Father have …"

Caleb frowned huffily – always with the Dad threats! He firmed his resolve- choking down a deep breath and forcing it through metal clamped teeth repeatedly. His head was pounding and his throat was a cactus patch in Nevada, but when he spoke at least there was firmness to his voice that seemed to be suggesting the end was in sight.

"Can I get some water Bobby?" he managed at a slightly slower speed than his natural speech pattern.

The Truckers hat disappeared with its trademark rumbling dissent. Divide and Conquer, Caleb told himself bleakly, as he accepted the Pastors help in getting up.

"Stupid move to try the mystery salad at a truck stop huh?" he quipped weakly at the Pastor.

"Perhaps not your most reasoned move – still maybe if you are adamant on not seeking medical advice, you should probably rest tomorrow, I will tell John that…"

"No – no need Pastor Jim, I just need to get some rest" Caleb interjected quickly hoping he wasn't making a liar out of himself on the rest front. "Me and the worst of anything I ate parted company back there" he gestured with his thumb in the direction of the bathroom they had just exited.

"Why don't we see the lay of the land in the morning Caleb?" Jim appeased gently, he was very familiar with the teen's deep seated fear of hospitals based on his troubled early years.

Jim would not put Caleb through those fears for anything – but this reaction, or whatever it was, had been far from mild. Jim had been on the verge of instructing Robert to dial 911. There was something very off with the usually cocky, irreverent teen, something about the hunched set of his shoulders and the guarded look around his eyes that seemed to be warning Jim that they had not reached the Harbour yet. He would be grateful when Mackland got here tomorrow afternoon.

Caleb watched silently as a gambit of emotions chased across the Guardian's face. Chief amongst them was a worried uncertainty that seemed directed at him. His heart sank – he had tried his utmost to assure those around him that he was worthy of the trust they put in him. Jim knew he was lying at some level – maybe the Pastor was rethinking his decisions to take Caleb into the fold? Jim knew as well as Caleb – probably more clearly than Caleb … what a putrid well the Reaves line drew from. Now it appeared that Caleb's cursed Demon tainted blood had a will of its own and was intent on reliving the glory days … the alternative was just too fucking horrible to contemplate!

"_Noah started out hearing voices and seeing visions too you know?! That ended with him torching everyone who ever trusted him."_ a young unfamiliar voice sounded loudly in his head.

"Caleb!" Jim cried in alarm as the young man missed a step completely and would have gone down hard if Bobby hadn't returned and been offering the uncomprehending youth his glass of water at just that point.

Singer let the glass slip grabbing the boys other arm to hold him up with a string of loosed curses that Jim was too worried to chastise him for.

"Whoa ..." Caleb slurred a little, his brain numb with shock. "Little dizzy…"

"Help me move him to the bed." Jim instructed.

Caleb felt himself being half helped, half hauled into bed. The covers were pulled up under his chin. His entire body was numb – as if hearing voices wasn't Shinning enough … it had to be the voice of authority on his murdering bastard of a Grandfather?!!! Maybe he really had eaten something bad – trust his screwed up mind to dredge this particular hallucination up!

"Caleb?" Jim called staring intently at the grey faced youth in the bed. "Are you in pain?"

Hospital alarm bells went off again in Reaves' head, bringing with them a wave of panic that snapped him out of his shock. Need to get your head in the game here Caleb, he told himself fiercely.

"Maybe … something to settle my stomach?" Caleb requested quietly "I don't think I've thrown up this much since Becky Lindfeldts sixteenth birthday when she kissed me better behind the…"

"Caleb!" Jim attempted his usual feigned outrage, but the doubts swarmed him. Still the boy's colour was returning slowly. "Maybe Robert could keep you company while I fetch you something?" Jim asked standing and not waiting for either man's approval.

As Jim stepped out the door he was slightly bolstered by the conversation he was leaving and pretending not to hear.

"You goanna read my bedtime story too Aunty Roberta?" Caleb teased.

"Kid – if you're not careful I'll wind you and change your Godamn diapers!!!" the older voice growled.

Bobby turned towards the door ensuring Jim had reached the bottom of the stairs before turning back to the boy in the bed, all traces of humour gone.

"What's going on with you Junior – your Freaky powers acting up or something?"

Caleb's face was bleak as he sat up sharply. "I am not a Freak Bobby" he snarled dangerously.

"Whoa there pup!" Bobby soothed, laying his hands lightly on Reaves' chest and pushing him down gently. "I didn't mean you kid – who are you trying to convince here at any rate?"

"Fuck you Bobby!" the younger man glowered. "Get your hands off me – if you got something to say– just come out with it!"

Bobby stayed quiet looking at Caleb like he was a car that needed fixing, before withdrawing his hands and conceding in a neutral voice. "Didn't mean anything by it boy – just worried is all."

Caleb felt a flash of guilt and would have apologised if Jim hadn't re-entered the room. He resolved to stay quiet for the remainder of the conversation. It was decided that they'd wait till the morning and see how Caleb felt then. Caleb knew that he would do everything in his power to be more than fine – dream or no dream, he wasn't Noah Seaver! He was a member of the Brotherhood – this was his destiny… not… playing the Bitch for some Demon!

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John Winchester was worse than a Rooster at daybreak – at least the damn bird only woke you up! John dropkicked your ass out of bed and then proceeded to kick you round a Marine style obstacle course and a five mile run to wash that down with. To say he was a Sadist, in Caleb's opinion was to give all the "lonely ones" a BAD name!!! Sergeant Shoeshine made him re-do the first quarter mile of the course, because he hadn't tucked his boots in, or some such crap! As he breathed hard through his nose on the last stretch Caleb relented a little – he _may_ have given Corporal Winchester the tiniest amount of lip to deserve the Full Metal Jacket treatment. But actually Winchester's in your face manner was more than helpful in motivating Caleb to complete the course this morning. Although the memories of his nightmare of many colours, was still vivid and way too disturbing to look at right now, the unexpected sickness was a distant memory. Caleb had noticed Jim at the Kitchen window, unobtrusively observing him and Dean shoulder their full packs and set out. He grit his teeth into a determined smile as he powered home, pushing his own limits to the finish line where his tutor waited with a stop watch.

John grinned broadly as Caleb seemed to steam home – Jim and Bobby were such Mother hens!! The kid thrived with this type of training – not that he'd let Junior's head swell too much! There was no sign that Caleb wasn't a hundred percent fit to be sent on a hunt right this minute. John watched as Dean made a respectable last place across the finish line - all in all a good exercise. John made his mind up to go tell the Pastor and Bobby to stop mollycoddling the boy – he had Mackland for that! Maybe they'd even push the boat out after breakfast on some sparing.

Dean heard his Dad's voice sound through the thumping of his heart in his ears. As John walked away he ordered them to settle up and then come in for breakfast … he was equally sure a threat was made against the last of Jim's homemade sausages, if he and Caleb didn't shag ass. Thoughts of his best friend drew his eye to him. Dean watched the eighteen year old catch his breath doubled over in the same manner as he was, but something was out of whack. He had heard Damien's cries last night; he'd even gone in to check on him via the door that linked their rooms. Caleb had been having a fitful sleep and Dean had covered him with the blanket that he had discarded. But as the cries grew more pointed, he started to worry, fearing the Psychic was having one of _those_ dreams – the movies in his head, as Dean called them; and was secretly grateful he'd never get dared to watch a screening. But then he'd heard the rest of the night's commotion – even the argument with Bobby – which was just plain strange for Damien. At eight years old Dean had seen way to much – but how to talk to his friend about actual feelings, and fears and girlie junk … it just petrified him enough to send him running to buy popcorn to go with one of Damien's damn Mind Movies!!!

"You been watching Blue Lagoon again Deuce? I told you I'd explain that part - first chance I get." Caleb grinned broadly looking for the entire world like his annoying self. The entire world; that wasn't Dean.

"Screw yourself Damian – like you know how to work the VCR?" Dean smiled at the other boy.

Caleb ruffled his hair as he gestured for Dean to pick up some lighter items John had discarded, while he stooped to pick up Dean's pack as well as his own.

"I got it Damien …" Dean moved quickly to snatch up his own pack, recalling the horrid retching sounds he knew must have been Caleb last night. His friend's stubborn ass side – never failed to impress Dean.

Caleb's frown was searching " What's with you – you never pass the chance to ditch the bags, in fact I know that you have already worked out the exact date Sam will be eligible to carry the gear as youngest hunter in training!"

"May 12th 1990 – what's your point el burro?" Dean asked evenly, knowing that he had been rumbled. As well as he knew Caleb – even without the magic mind reading Mojo – the young hunter knew him inside out too.

He felt the older boys hand lightly on his shoulder. It halted him as surely as if Reaves had blocked his path – they were both adverse to others in their personnel space; Caleb was not joking.

Dean turned with a sigh and looked the other boy in the eye. "I heard you last night Damian… you were…you were really out of it." Dean confessed almost apologetically.

Caleb's look darkened in a way Dean had not ever witnessed directed at him before, but all the Psychic volunteered was; "I see."

Reaves turned on his heel before going back for John's stuff leaving Dean, alone and more than a little stunned.

As Caleb stormed away from Dean all that ran through his head was a boiling uncalled for anger and the voice from last night – which more than scared the shit out of him.

_They begin to see through you – even your precious Deuce is weary of you – they can tell one of the pack from a Rabid half-breed in desperate need of being put down… did you know that? I hope for his sake that boy is a bright one – look what happened to me when your Granddaddy turned…look what happened to your unborn sibling when your Daddy …"_

Caleb breathed in – concentrating hard trying to push away the onslaught of the small thin voice with the musical Southern accent. His eyes were shut tightly beads of moisture had begun to spring up on his upper lip. As he fought for control of his own thoughts – he lost all sense of his surroundings. He had to make it stop – he had to … get control. He could not loose himself to this – whatever it was!

Dean watched Caleb's back as the muscles bunched in agitation. Fearful for the first time that he had said something completely out of line, and Damien was actually ticked with him. But for the life of him, Dean couldn't figure out what? It took him another two heartbeats to make his mind up against leaving the Psychic to his deep, meaningful brooding, crap; and demand that the Princess tell him exactly what was going on in that strange head of his. He stormed back towards the Psychic; he didn't need Damien's Super Powers to know the asshole needed help!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"_Easy to find what's wrong, Harder to find what's right." Dance with the Devil. Breaking Benjamin._

There are moments in all our lives that shock us, that are committed to memory simply because we can not comprehend how we could let them happen. Caleb Reaves had no idea how the horror movie his mind had recently slipped into, became confused with Dean Winchester's jaw! He recalled the soft voice preceding his mini aneurism – the one that caused him to lay out his best friend. It had described his worst imaginings – his most secret nightmares – the ones he spared Mac. The recurring dark thoughts he fell prey to round the Anniversary of his parents death, were usually purged with exercise at the Winchester Academy of split knuckles when he looked young enough to get carded, and later when he found the doors swung wide open to his overconfidence; he soused them with alcohol. Why they sought him out here – in the middle of a hot Minnesota weekend at the wrong end of the Calendar, he couldn't guess. He was still trying to figure out the last burning question on his mind – how could he have lashed out at Dean like that?

The kid was doubled over and hung like a scarecrow that had been all but blown off its perch. Caleb found himself blinking rapidly – what the fuck was happening here? He reached forward on instinct to comfort Deuce – as if his sole role here was protector and not guilty perpetrator.

"Deuce, I'm so sorry man … I wasn't paying…. You ok?" he fumbled the words in a breathy tone, his voice pleading for the kid to look up.

Dean did not comply immediately. But as the effects of sparing with Caleb, without the aid of pads, or a heads up, wore off, he shrugged off his companion.

"Get offa me Damien … I'm not a friggin damsel in distress!" Dean grunted, his fat lip actually giving his voice a rolling lilt.

Caleb balked when he saw the young boys face – Deuce had, had worse in his short life, but never at Reaves' hand. Not in all their years training together, had Caleb ever given Deuce so much as a hangnail – and now? He let the younger youth shove him roughly away and tried to hide his shock by rolling into smartass – and for them normal, as quickly as he could.

"Hold on now Deuce. You are the biggest example of girlie out here… and I do tend to save your ass a lot. That's Damsel material right there … plus you are totally a strawberry blonde, Aurora!"

Deuce was not biting. He regarded Caleb with a weary look that had never appeared in his jade eyes before. It made Caleb swallow a lump in his throat. How could he have let that happen – what the fuck was **wrong **with him?!

"What the hell is up with your psychic what-not Damien?" Dean's voice was hurt and full of accusation. "You can usually point to my seat in a Super bowl Stadium, but you clock me because your distracted and thought I was … what…. a Ninja assassin?!!!"

Caleb wanted to laugh in desperation – Deuce was right, he had no explanation… no excuse. He had not realized that he had voiced his harsh bark of dark mirth. The kid was looking at him like he was losing it – but in the same instance had put a concerned hand on Caleb's forearm. He looked into Deuce's eyes and became very uncomfortable all at once – too much contact, too much concern lay out in the open between them. Reaves broke contact as gently as he could, knowing he owed the kid so much more, taking both hands and running them through his slightly damp hair, he sighed.

"What can I say Deuce – I must be more tired than I thought." He looked at him keenly. "I am sorry man – I would never…"

As always Deuce put the needs of others first, coming to the teens rescue.

"Jesus Damien – just don't do it again… there's no need to ask me to Prom!" Dean snarked with a smile that said – now who needs the rescue?

"Ass!" Caleb returned gratefully.

It was far from alright – but Dean was offering the olive branch, and Caleb found it hard to deny Winchester most things. Howls of laughter from the farmhouse broke their awkward silence. Within seconds Sam had barreled into the back screen and screamed in his four year old squeak of enthusiasm.

"Mac's here early!"

Dean winced at the noise and Caleb grinned despite himself. He could see why the youngest Winchester did so much to motivate Deuce's 'suck it up' attitude – it was hard to brood round a four ear old on a constant high.

"Let's get in there Damian, before your Dad claims alms or something, and finishes our share of the sausages!"

Caleb smiled genuinely at the thought of his slightly uptight, socially flawless, adoptive Father, pigging out on Jim's prize sausages flickered into his imagination.

"Please - the day Dad reaches for seconds – I will be throwing the Holy water at him! Ames men don't behave that way!" Caleb affected his best pseudo English country Gent accent.

"Lucky for you, you're not from that well sanded branch of the family tree, Lucifer." Dean quipped.

Caleb smiled tightly stooping to pick up his dropped bag and hand Dean his. Family was a raw subject right now – he'd just as soon forget.

Dean followed Damien in. He was certain now that something was up. Caleb was damn near impossible to get the drop on. Last month when Missouri had almost caught Caleb and Amanda Husker skinny dipping in Jim's lake, the older youth had escaped and evaded detection by milliseconds. He had hauled ass like the wind and had heard the elder psychic, even though he had been more than slightly distracted. Winchester watched the other youth enter the kitchen, trade a few smart remarks with Sammy and then embrace his Father warmly.

"Ace?" his Father's voice broke in to his musing. "What happened to your face?"

Caleb immediately began to own up; Dean had to jump in quickly to stop the idiot from self confessing himself into further training – heightened awareness or whatever, in the afternoon. Dean had been hoping to cut loose and head into town.

"My fault Dad" Dean talked over the other boy. "I didn't hear Caleb tell me to watch out when he was picking up our stuff."

John released his son's chin with a nod of acceptance and only a slightly frustrated frown but all he said was. "Need to keep your head together Dean – this isn't a game."

"Johnny that's …."

Caleb's tone was distinctly offering his denial of Dean's lie, but John misunderstood.

"Easy there Nanny Reaves – I know you had a hand in it, but Ace and you both know this is not finishing school you're passing through – I can't keep worrying that I have anything less than the best out on that hunt with me."

Caleb cursed his hardheaded mentor silently as he watched Deuce blush with embarrassment. However the kid still threw him a pleading look to keep his mouth shut. And Reaves found himself complying as Jim joined the table last – bringing the syrup with him in Miss Emma's delicate china server.

"Jonathan – I think we can put the training to one side for now – family get together's are precious gifts. I can't remember the last time we were all here without agenda or pressing situation on horizon." The Pastor enthused.

Caleb smiled as the banter began between John and Bobby about their respective agenda's came up. This was normality for him – it helped his raw nerves settle a little, to bathe in the atmosphere here – Jim's house had been a heaven for all of them at one time or another. He cut a glance at Deuce and found the young boy too slow to drop his surveillance. The kid who toughed out most of life's hardships with a quirky smile or a middle finger gesture, blushed bright crimson as he realized he was caught out. Caleb held his gaze with a questioning look, wondering if his loss of concentration had done more harm than he realized.

"All work and no play; makes Caleb a thoughtless shit!" he grunted softly.

He felt like a twelve year old punk once again – how dare he let John's false absolution stand! He'd hurt Deuce and he knew it – the selfless idiot had still thrown himself on his own sword to save Caleb.

"Did you say something son?" Mackland queried in hushed tone trying not to distract the Knight's continued verbal sparing.

"Just setting out my To Do list Dad." Caleb murmured back.

Though his answer perplexed Ames, he carried on broaching the subject that had more to do with his main role in life – parenting the bright but defensive young man sitting next to him.

"I wondered if I could take some of your time after breakfast – John assures me it won't cut into any training plans?"

"I wanted to spend a little time with Deuce and Sam before Johnny breaks camp, and sets off again." Caleb supplied quickly.

"Oh didn't I mention – the Winchesters are coming out to stay with us – John has a prior engagement near us and the boys can keep you out of trouble for a few weeks, I didn't think you'd mind." Mackland continued keeping half his attention on the rest of the table.

"So you won't go nuts when you find me out of the frying pan then Dad – cause you know from experience where the play dates you set up for me and the Winchesters end – right?!"

Mackland was a little taken aback and looked at his son a little more closely. The need for a shower after heavy training should have accounted for the slight flush but the dark smudges under the eyes gave a different alternative.

"Rough night Caleb?" Mac asked pointedly, though that was all he said.

His son was on edge. He was not slow, and would probably have guessed that Mackland wanted to discuss the subject of Saint Martin's School – the latest in a line of high profile schools Caleb had been evicted from; except in this case his son had almost racked up enough credits to graduate and Ames had talked the Principal into a FINAL- final chance! Caleb was not normally out rightly hostile to him or unwilling to be in the company of the Winchester boys. In fact Mac was fully aware of the high esteem Caleb held Dean in – his son had gifted the boy with a nickname that was precious in Reaves' eyes. Though the Dr was certain that Dean didn't know the full extent of love and loyalty that went with the title – Deuce. Jim's revelations about Caleb's episode last night had Mac on edge too – but he had assured the Pastor that he would play things based on the evidence of the day, as Jim had promised the boy. So far all Mackland had noticed was the aftereffects of a rigorous training regime and the mood from hell that probably came with lack of sleep.

Caleb threw an irritated glance at his Father – of _**course**_ he knew about the previous night, of _**course**_ he wanted to talk about the Goddamned finishing school for assholes!!!! He ate his breakfast quietly, answering when spoken to and willing Mac to do the same. As the meal seemed to be all but over – as usual this was signaled by Sam trying to chug his milk in his haste to get outside to play, Caleb whispered to Ames.

"Why don't we get this over with Mac?" he asked quietly his voice sounding oddly tired and defensive at the same time, he threw his napkin at the table and asked Jim to excuse him.

As his son stood up Mackland had no choice but to follow suit and thanked James for another breakfast feast. They stepped into Jim's study – the first room that had a door.

Mac had just taken his second breath when Caleb went on the offensive.

"What do you want to talk about Dad – my dumb choice of lunch yesterday or your dumb choice of Fancy Fairy School?!"

Mackland kept his composure, though he fought hard to banish the impish thought of spanking the eighteen year old from his head.

"Pastor Jim did the only responsible thing he could do – he did tell me of his promise to you about not seeking medical aid unless it was necessary. Not a bargain I would have struck young man!" Macklands whole manner changed with concern "Are you sure your alright son?"

Caleb's anger seemed to deflate in the face of his adoptive Father's genuine concern and affection.

"I'm fine Dad – no spewing today." The boy assured his father resignedly "Are you really going to set Sam and Deuce on me to make sure I don't play hookie in my last two weeks in hell… uh High School?"

Mackland raised a hand to the side of his boys face and to his amazement Caleb allowed him to hold the soft gesture for more than the microsecond he had anticipated.

"I want only the best for you Caleb; I know that some of these institutions can be quite insular…"

"Try inbred!" the teen mumbled sourly.

Mac went on pretending not to hear. "But you have to see that none of your other goals in life can take place until you surmount this challenge and f…"

"Face my Demons?" Caleb asked in a low biting tone, dropping his Father's gaze.

Mackland gently tilted his sons face upwards, slightly alarmed at the undercurrent of pain that he had picked up at that point. "What is it Caleb? Has something happened?"

There was nothing the boy wanted more than to gush the truth and pour his heart out like a guest on Oprah's couch.

_Well Dad it seems that my Demon side is surfacing and giving me tips on the Ten Step Programme to Annihilate Everyone Around You, I'm doing my best ever impression of Jack Nicholson … without really trying (voices and all!), my new imaginary friend thinks I need putting down like a rabid dog, and my best friend thinks a little less of me today- after I realigned his jaw!!!!! And I am kinda beginning to freak out here – so you can see how playing nice with the Barbie and Ken brigade and graduation gowns are not topping my list!_

What he managed was. "I am just different from them Dad – they won't ever be able to feel comfortable round a freak."

"Don't use that word – you know it's not true Caleb." Ames asserted strongly.

"Yeah? Well that doesn't really stop them or Mr. Jennings from believing it- does it Dad?" Caleb asked trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I don't mind Sam and Deuce being with us – I'd prefer that to what ever roach motel Johnny had lined up … but I don't want your mini narks running to you every time I am not whistling Dixie when I get in from school ok? I'll finish my way."

His Father smiled patting Reaves on the back. "That's all I am asking of you son. Just leave the building standing though – donating a library is one thing – but building reconstruction … my Accountant will have a fit!!!"

"Are you trying to tell me you drank my inheritance already?" Caleb deadpanned.

As they exited the study Caleb felt a little lighter on his feet – he would make it up to Deuce this afternoon and then he'd get to hang out with them for an extended break. Maybe he could weather Saint Martin's – it was only two weeks right?

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The remains of the desolated building still hinted at the cause of its demise. In the gaps between the ivy and the creeping Morning Glory's, the twisted remnants of the wrought iron section of a stained glass window poked through, the walls were mottled, but brown and black played a prominent part of the color pallet. The field around it still remained green and lush as if the nearby community, which had sprawled over the decades, thought the ground cursed and refused to build there. Verity chuckled at a comment only she could hear from one of her elemental companions who were in whole hearted agreement with the good towns folk.

She could see the jagged aura of the church as they approached, the sheep were right not to graze here: the land was cursed. Real evil had been loosed here – Seaver had never stood a chance against that kind of raw power. What would convince the rank amateur otherwise; she wondered idly as she entered the skeleton of the building and tried to pick out the precise energy she was looking for. As she moved around she passed through their screams and cries – she knew they could not touch her mind, her defenses were more than formidable and her demonic entourage would take care of the rest, but she paused here and there to listen to their agonized cries searching for the ones she sought.

"What do you mean cocky?" she snapped glancing upwards at thin air and flicking her hair imperiously. "Are you going to do your job and keep a watch out while I find the brat's remains or not?"

Her head tilted to the side acknowledging the response.

"Any posing parlor magician can project the thoughts of a willing spirit into the head of an unsuspecting dupe; it's beneath my abilities and not enough to compromise his defenses. Reaves is more formidable than that ass Porter gives him credit for, pity he will be leaving us so young – it might have been interesting to see what he would mature into. But nothing beats the personal touch …. Ahah – there you are Ms Dupree."

Stooping the slender woman in green picked up the charred earth in a small glass vial, taking pains not to let it contact her bare skin.

"Now one or two more spots and we are done…. What about all those sheep, they bleed don't they?" Verity asked trying her best to ignore the incessant entity. "You are so melodramatic - all that cloak and dagger, stolen under the midnight moon business, was my Mother… not me!"

Having set matters to rights LeHarve continued her preparations. Planning as with everything in life and the Afterlife was everything. Once she had the specimens she came for, all was set; she had even spied the perfect derelict building to carry out the parts of her incantation that called for the deeper concentration and the pyrotechnic magic's. She had a feeling that Porter was not a patient man though he affected the air of high brow manners – seeing souls stripped to their essence, had long ago revealed the divergence between the masks men chose to wear, and what lay coiled in their hearts. Not that it was her business how this Brotherhood took care of its affairs. She had a task to perform, and as always she would succeed with the deadly efficiency her family had become famed for.

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The two boys waved off the black jeep that carried John Winchester and a very sulky Sam to stock up on supplies for the Farm. Sam had wanted to accompany them but John had insisted on keeping the dentist appointment that Pastor Jim had pulled favors to get him. He had only been pacified by the promise of both elder boys, that no-one was going near the desert menu till he got back.

"Maybe we should have gone with him… I'm really not that hungry." Dean wondered aloud, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Earth to Mother Hen – the chick is with the Rooster! Quit worrying, what could happen to Sammy with Corporal Punishment at his back? That Dentist had better have paid Damn close attention in Cavity class!!! Besides, if we go with your Dad he'll rope us into some "strength training" – or as we like to call it …"

"Ponying the bags!" Dean smiled slowly "What's with all the farmyard metaphors Damien – you trying to sway my vote to the fried chicken?!"

As he held the door open for the two pretty blondes exiting Blue Earth's second dinner, Caleb's head angled innocently as he checked out the two retreating, mini skirts. When one of the girls turned and threw him a coy smile he grinned broadly at her.

"Oh don't kid yourself Lucifer – she was checking out the dishier alternative right next to you." Dean retorted.

Glancing behind him Caleb pointed a finger at the menu stuck to the door and smirked. Dean offered his friend a different finger, in reply.

"Envy is one of the deadly sins Deuce … I am the hottest dish in this joint. So you can continue your unholy obsession with pasta – I don't want this whole trip to be a disappointment for you." Caleb allowed generously.

"Your right – maybe your girlfriend won't mind her first born having the horns and the tail?"

They laughed and joked their way through an agreed first course of dough balls. Caleb won the "how many at once?" contest. Dean almost choked laughing at the face of concentration the young psychic pulled when cramming the last garlic laced piece past his overloaded lips … just as one of the two blondes from earlier re-entered the dinner.

"I think you may have won the battle, but lost the victory parade afterwards, there Damien" Dean gasped out between hales of laughter.

The girl took one look at Reaves engorged mouth and turned on her heel to leave.

"It would never have worked out anyway" Caleb shrugged "I like my women to like me for who I am, to see past my devilish good looks and natural charm and brilliance…" The teen frowned slightly.

"And wads of cash?" Dean asked sweetly "Cause I hear that's the best weapon in your Arsenal … you ok Damien?"

The banter subsided in the younger boys face.

"Yeah – I am paying for my victory a little." He patted his stomach gingerly.

"We need to go?" Dean asked making as if to call for the bill.

"No Deuce, I'm good." Caleb threw him a quick glance. "Besides I wanted to talk to you about earlier."

Dean's manner seemed to alter in front of him and that guarded look returned to his eyes. Caleb hated it almost as much as he hated himself for putting it there. But when his friend didn't speak he carried on trying to hold the other boys gaze for as long as he could, overly aware that this was steering terribly close to Chick Flick territory.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am Deuce – I should have had better control, it never should have fucking happened. But you don't need to cover for me with John, I am the older one, I screwed up not you… I should take what comes of that, and would in a heartbeat take the worst your Dad could dish out – cause I … hurt you. It will **never** happen again."

A slight pressure on his wrist brought his eyes back to Dean's face; he didn't recall dropping his gaze.

"I know Damian – but he would have killed you for dropping the ball, and it seems to me you have enough on your mind right now." Dean's voice was earnest and Caleb marveled how much his friend could read people without the aid of psychic abilities.

"I would have deserved it Deuce. And I'd go out there and take worse, if I could take it back… but you have to believe me man, I will never let anything happen to you while I am around."

Dean looked at the young psychic in front of him; there was fierceness about his face that contrasted sharply with the desperation in his liquid Amber eyes. Caleb felt that by striking out at one of his family, he had sinned – he was asking Dean's forgiveness. It was too close to the line his Father had crossed when he had murdered his Mother and then killed himself in front of a six year old Caleb. That one event drove the majority of the heights and depths of Caleb's psyche – it was the fire that fueled his deep seated need to be one of the good guys, and his gut churning fear that he was fated to become evil; like all the men in his family. The ferocity of the blow, and the utter shock that Caleb had thrown it, had Dean reeling at the time, his defenses sprang up instinctively and he had withdrawn. The younger boy would bet his best Rookie Card, that as much as it hurt like a bitch at the time, it was still a twisting pain in the older boy's heart. At the end of the day, allowing Caleb to hang on to that guilt; crossed Dean's line.

"Damian – I am only going to say this one more time – it's a done thing, it's history !I know you slipped up man and I know how far you have gone to keep Sammy and I safe – I remember History pretty well – despite my grades." The youngster gave Caleb an unrepentant grin. "I still believe that you are ugly as sin …"

Caleb laughed shortly despite the slight moisture in his eyes.

"But I also believe … you have always been there – you are the first to stand up when we need you, and the last to back down. I believe in you Damian … and you have never made me regret that … you start pushing any meatballs across my plate with you nose … and I take it all back Reava!" Dean quipped, trying to steer them both away from Emo town, as it appeared his friend was finding the destination hard work.

Caleb barked out a genuine laugh despite the obvious discomfort Dean's uncharacteristic openness had caused him. "You just wish Deana!" was all he could summon in a gruff, cracking voice.

The rest of their lunch was just the way he liked it – uneventful. Caleb slowly began to banish his fears one by one – setting them down in the hole he had created for all the painful and unwanted memories and emotions over the years. He buried these fears deeply – fully aware they were there, but as with all the others, ignoring their existence anyway. He began looking forward to his unexpected time with Deuce and Sammy, what better tonic for self important teenage socialites was there than irreverent pre-teens and brutally honest kindergarteners after all? He'd grit out his time at Saint Martin's, and then as Mac said – he was free to pursue his Brotherhood path. When Sammy turned up with a good deal of smugness at having passed yet another examination (albeit a dental one!) and sage advice about brushing; now that he was the qualified one, they enjoyed their ice creams. Even John joined in with a rare tale from his childhood about how he'd once hidden in a tree to avoid his Dad taking him to the dentist.

They were in high spirits when they were leaving. Dean taking the lead – possibly to escape the little Einstein's ongoing lecture about cavity's. His plan backfired however as John dragged his heels just enough to divert Sammy's flow of conversation towards his brother.

"Parenting from a distance Johnny?" Caleb asked with a knowing smile.

"Hey, I did my time on the car ride back here." John protested with a smile. "Besides, I'll let Sam soften his brother up for me – fewer arguments when I let Dean know that it's his turn next!"

"Oh yeah – cause it's Deuce that's going to be trouble… please, Bobby and I already have a twenty on what age Sammy's going to get his first tat!!!"

Caleb's eye roll halted suddenly as he caught sight of a young girl in the booth in the far corner nearest the door he was following John to. She was around twelve and wore a striking Violet dress; unique due to its outdated turn of the century styling. Caleb found himself riveted to the actions of the child, wondering dimly why no one else found her attire out of place. Her presence screamed ghost to him, there was wave after wave of deadly malevolence coming from her, that was breath stealing – why had John not clocked her? His mentor gave him a lopsided grin as he reached back through the doorway and pulled him through with a tug. Obviously under the impression his protégée was working up to a punch line John gave him a friendly, though enthusiastic pat on the back.

"I don't care if he blackmails you and Dean into doing the dance of the Tooth Fairy – I am not ridding back alone with the song from the Colgate advert on a loop! So get your butt in gear private – no stalling." John's tone was friendly and mock conspiratorial, his eyes on his youngest and hence missing the look of horror on the young psychic at his side.

Caleb let himself be drawn away by the Knight, feeling a little like the Damsel he had teased Dean with earlier that day. It was her – Cecile Dupree; he could hear her thoughts roll his way with the sound and the fury of the Titanic hitting the Iceberg, it made him wince and took all his self control not to move closer towards John. As if the girl heard his trembling knees through the dinner glass window, she looked up a feral self satisfied look on her face; she caught his stunned gaze when he passed the spot she sat in. Her blonde hair and translucent ivory skin, gave no hint at the horrific fire she had perished in, but her oddly heated grey blue eyes seemed to have absorbed some of it. A shiver rocked him then. It was strong enough to cause Winchester to glance back over his shoulder, Caleb managed to drop his gaze and examine the pavement at just the right second. Normal was out of the question it seemed – or maybe hellish nightmares coming to life in broad daylight, _was_ normal … for devils?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"_He tries to sleep again/ And he wonders when the pain will end._

_The cuts, they may run deeper than his cracking outer shell." Stained "Devil"._

At ten years old Dean Winchester counted himself lucky, he'd seen more in his short lifetime than many others would see well into their coddled Teenage years. He lived alongside real hero's who worked tirelessly to save the faceless, clueless masses from the true evil in this world. And though the price of initiation into this high minded fraternity was excruciatingly dear, he had the satisfaction of knowing his purpose and mission in life even at this tender age. With that knowledge came the security of his extended Brotherhood family. Their cause was his cause, their strength was his strength and as he had grown ever closer to them over the years – their pain was his challenge to solve. Unlike his chatty sibling, Sam, Dean saw more than he shared – he was even more vigilant when it came to the welfare of those he loved. Both Winchester boys loved being a part of Merlin's castle – the web of fairytales that Pastor Jim used to smooth out some of the harsher elements of the Brotherhood calling for young Sam. They thrived behind these walls, sharing their lives with the other "dragons" who lived there. Camelot was a safe heaven for all who lived there – no matter what hard case front they tried towear there – even Oh' Nathan Jay smiled more. But right now it was a withdrawn and brooding Belac that held Athewm's attention.

The eighteen year old Psychic was joining in with Jim's usual kitchen banter at a "get under the radar level", so he would not incur the curiosity of his Father or other's, especially after his bout of sickness last night. Caleb was nothing if not resourceful when it came to avoiding detection. Dean knew where the guarded teen had learned some of those skills; in the time he had spent bouncing around the New York Child Care system. They were simply not prepared for the traumatized, emerging Psychic with the smart mouth and well camouflaged guilt complex, following the death of his parents and then Grandmother. Caleb had been left with two choices, raise his guard or roll over. Reaves was a stubborn bastard, and the experience had only served to harden those defenses. But Dean saw through them clearly – the Psychic's gruff exterior and sometimes downright hostile attitude was a mask, and the elder Winchester brother knew a thing or two about masks. Question was – what was Caleb covering?

Reaves tried his best to ignore the scrutiny of his best friend, though the wash of worry directed at him from the boy was distracting. Trust Deuce to be on to him – in some ways this was potentially worse than his Father. Mac respected boundaries – Deuce, like Caleb himself, only sized them up to see how far a running jump he'd need to scale them. And the little shit was not above fighting dirty if he thought he was in the right. Normally he would feel touched (covertly), but all he wanted now was to forget the nightmares and the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that what he was seeing was not just a snap shot of the past, but a forerunner of his future. He was not Noah Seaver, he was on the right side and he intended to cling to it. Reaves shifted uncomfortably, as he realized with alarm that the stinging sensation in his eyes could be a disastrous giveaway to everyone in the room, not just the Eagle-eyed member of the Winchester pack. He rose slowly and headed for the kitchen and some privacy as thoughts of his parents came crashing in on him. The acoustics in his head played a relentless symphony of waves crashing, and the rapport of a gun shot. A lone tear slid down his cheek as he saw his Mother's look of terror as she locked eyes with him … he was not his Father. It hurt to even think it. He tightened his grip on the fridge door till his knuckles hurt to stop himself crying out, as if he had been struck physically.

"I think I will take that drink please Damian." Dean's soft voice caught him off guard.

Schooling his features whilst savagely reining in his girly moment, Caleb stayed in the temporary safe heaven of Jim's classic 1960's double chiller.

"What can I get the discerning gentleman – a Coke, or Murphy's classic Ice Tea with its heavenly endorsement?"

Steeling himself with a grin that he neither felt nor (judging from Deuces face) passed for real, Reaves waited for the young boy's response.

"You can tell me what's up with you Caleb – I don't have your Super Powers, have I forgotten something important … an Anniversary…?"

Dean left it unsaid, like so many of their raw wounds, there was no need to specify. They both knew where the hurt came from; both had first hand experience of the ebb and flow of loss.

Caleb swallowed, his smile frozen on his face. "No, nothing like… I just need to get my head together."

"Bullshit Reaves, I am the one you laid out remember?! You are wound so tight – you make Josh look cool!"

The Psychic barked out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. "That's just cruel Deuce – kicking a guy when he's down!"

Dean didn't look like he was in the mood to let the older youth off the hook so easily. He held Caleb's gaze. "Your dreams were about you weren't they … are you in danger Damien?"

"No – I …" the psychic let out a hitched breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Can't do this right now Deuce… not even for you." Caleb shook his head and crossed his slightly shaking hands over his chest, as images of his Mother swam towards him. "It's not a vision – not me …"

Dean took a step towards him and Caleb instinctively moved away, gaining more room. The kids face fell, but he stood his ground. "Whatever you say man" Dean shook his head in frustration. "Dad was talking about running an exercise in the morning before we leave for your place."

"But after Mass, and I hope that both you gentleman have suitable attire? Caleb army boots are out Son, especially if your wardrobe includes fatigues … is something wrong?" Jim asked gently.

The Pastor caught the uneasy tension in the boys exchange. It was not their normal banter or even the bickering that sometimes marked their friendship. He scanned both members of his tribe more carefully, his instincts instantly flagging Caleb's slightly defensive posture and Dean's look of frustration. Caleb responded first.

"Dean was just breaking the news to me, that his Dad has one final devious goose chase in mind, before we head back to New York."

"Yes" Jim answered with a small smile noting that Dean didn't offer a response of any kind, to either Jim's concern, or Caleb's explanation.

Jim knew Dean hated to lie to him. The older boys often blamed the downfall of their schemes on Sam, but in truth it was just as likely to be Dean's conscience that gave them away.

"I guess you boys will have to take up my invitation depending on your prior engagement."

"Speaking of – I have a feeling John will pull out the stops tomorrow, so I am going to get some actual rest tonight… dinner was great Jim, thank you. In the A.M. Deuce?"

The dark haired youth left the kitchen and headed upstairs without pausing for a response. The abruptness of his departure had Jim searching Dean for answers.

The ten year old rolled his eyes in response.

"You know if I knew for sure what was up – I'd have come to you by now Pastor Jim." Dean supplied without waiting for the question.

"You care a great deal for Caleb son, he's lucky to have you." Jim smoothed.

"Yeah cause the blockhead really radiates that warm fuzzy feeling by all the trust he's putting in me right now." The boy couldn't help the large dose of hurt that went along with the biting sarcasm in his tone.

"It's not you he doesn't trust Dean, it's himself – I feel relieved that no matter what obstacle Caleb is trying to overcome alone, he now has you watching over him." Jim smiled reassuringly at him.

"Is this your attempt to get me to nark on him Pastor… cause unlike my brother, I don't sing for a five?!" Dean stated frankly.

Jim laughed "Understood son, but just remember, we are not the enemy here, we all have Caleb's best interests at heart. Now, by my math Caleb's early retirement leaves an extra portion of Miss Emma's Peach Cobbler, know where I can find that a home?"

Dean smiled at the grandfatherly figure in front of him. "Are you trying to get round me with baked goods? … 'Cause its working!!"

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Caleb sat dejectedly on the bed with his knees pulled in tightly to his chest. The headboard provided a brace for his body as he tried to push himself further into it, to back away from the relentless wash of the ocean in his mind. His arms hugged his knees fiercely, as if trying to hold himself together physically. Swiping a bead of sweat from his left eye he glanced at the bright red LED of his alarm clock, willing the numbers to slip by faster. There was no dreams tonight… because there would be no friggin sleep tonight! The Marine orchestra in his head played on relentlessly and for him the effect was like cat claws down a chalk board, his every nerve was strained. He had contemplated seeking out Mac about an hour ago. He then remembered the conversation with his Father when he had come up to wish him goodnight. Dr Ames had been called in on a consult by the NYPD and would be heading out early; he'd asked Caleb if he'd mind catching a ride in the Impala. Besides not wanting to deprive his Dad of his much needed rest, Caleb wondered sourly exactly what he would ask his Father to do for him.

"_Chase the scary water noises away Pa?" - Not friggin likely!!!_

No – he just needed to Man Up and beat … what ever the Hell this was. He tried to regulate his breathing, but the scream of a gull mirrored another scream and had him jumping up and grabbing his grey hoodie and sneakers on his way out the door. He needed air – he needed to be outside – he needed to stop himself from crying like a girl! In a house full of hunters he used every ounce of skill he had to sneak downstairs and out the back door.

Cutting a path in the opposite direction of Jim's pond, Caleb set a punishing pace as he began to run. The sound now had to compete with his hammering heart and soon his aching lungs as he pushed harder and harder, finding sweet release in the moonlight and the brisk air and the exacting exercise. The running seemed to be working. The more he forced his body to co-operate the louder the evidence of his organs trying to comply thrummed. He lost himself in the act of connecting with the ground and spiking away, kicking forward and savagely beating back all other consciousness. This would probably account for why he missed the set of worried Jade eyes, tracking him from the hidden tree line. But it didn't fully explain why the owner of the green eyes missed the fact that they were both being surveyed by a third smaller figure, with waist length blonde hair that shone in the moonlight. The young girl watched the running man with a small twisted self-satisfied smirk, but wearily eyed his watchman as something of a bump in the road she might need to circumnavigate.

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Verity smiled lazily as her eyes glimpsed some of what her ghostly charge was wreaking. Her concentration was held almost entirely by the circle of fire that surrounded her. She was after bigger fish. The last entity she was looking to resurrect was arrogant and unwilling to play, to say the least. But this was necessary as both the final step and her assurance. Another necessity was loosing Cecile Dupree on the world. Though there was a slim tether that she maintained, the angry child's spirit had free reign to punish the descendent of her murderer to her hearts content. It saved Verity some lengthy incantations and a lot of brainstorming – besides the girl had a real flare for torture. LeHarve mused that she might even have to make a few notes.

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Whither it was the end of a hunt or a training maneuver there was an order to be followed. On this particular maneuver John was sure as hell going to ensure some damn thing went by the numbers! As far as levels of difficulty went, this one had been middling – both boys were more than up to it. Maybe a push for Dean, but a sleepwalk for Reaves… fact was that Junior appeared to be sleepwalking for real! And as for his boy… hell, Dean all but held Caleb's hand round the damn course!

John watched Caleb as he cleaned the guns. Years of military training had made his actions fluid and graceful; in a deadly way. It also afforded him the ability to put only half his concentration into his work while the other half was able to plan, scheme, review or just take stock of his surroundings. Currently his "surroundings" was Reeves distracted form warming down. The kid had been off all morning. What natural ability failed to provide Caleb, his own hours of endless training filled in. And yet Dean had only just managed to grab a handful of Reeves' Tee in order to stop his face first fall to the ground twenty feet below.

"Your way off your game today kid – you planning a Wedding or something?" John asked in his most tactful manner.

Caleb grimaced. Of course the ex-marine had noticed his charge, slacking on the job.

"What can I say Johnny? Future co-eds keeping me up all night." Reaves drawled cracking a wide grin that would probably have broken itself if he fought to hold it much longer.

"What can you say Junior?" John bellowed, that famous Winchester temper igniting like a spark in a bone dry Californian forest. "Can you say drop and give me fifty?!"

Caleb looked incredulously at his Mentor – "You got to be kidding me … John…"

"What was that son?!" John's harsh tone rode rough shod over the young hunter's objections. "Fifty – **not** challenging enough for you … you feel more like 100? Well then son, knock yourself out!"

Caleb knew better than to voice the dark thoughts flowing free through his head right now – at times like these he was grateful that John wasn't Psychic. As he dropped catching himself easily on both hands, he began the grueling count.

"Sound out the numbers Junior – I'll need to be able to hear them from Jim's kitchen, where I'll be helping myself to some of his fine Ice Tea!"

The younger hunter gritted his teeth.

"Four … Five…" he growled half with strain and half with anger.

Winchester had not pulled the drill Sergeant Routine with Caleb since the last time he had screwed up royally, two years ago. Though Reaves knew he had not been velvety smooth on this maneuver, he had hardly been laying back and taking it easy either.

John had not made his way to the house; in fact he stood not two feet away from Caleb. As he risked a glance upwards with a grunted count of "Ten"; he saw the barely shielded concern in John's face. The minute the Knight caught the boys eye, it was like someone called a lockdown and all emotion drained from his face leaving that detached, calculating look that had scared the shit out of him and Dean when John had been given the disciplinary duties. Johnny gave a disinterested huff and stalked away. He believed his Mentor's hard case act less than his own attempts at deflection. Jim, Dean, Bobby and now John… they were all looking at him differently – with worry, doubt … maybe even fear?

How long does it take a rabid animal to turn, exactly? And now the young hunter knew that, alone with his thoughts was the last damn place, he wanted to be. The tight lock he kept on the memories of his dark dreams and this new waking nightmare was waning and though Caleb practiced his mental barriers and defenses, there was just something about this dream that set it apart in force and intensity.

"Noah Seaver's Abomination!" the voice rang out – clear, and outraged and way too young to have that word in her mouth.

Caleb gasped as he saw two small black patent leather shoes right under his face. He would have fallen forward onto them, if the automatic recoil at the mention of his demon possessed Great Grandfather's name, hadn't propelled him backward on to his ass. And then he saw her. Cecile Dupree, aged six, standing in front of him in the singed Violet church dress she died in. She stood at an angle but gave the impression of being more than capable of going toe, to toe with the hunter. He could read the waves of rage coming off her, indignation at a life stolen, and a terrifying thirst for…

She blurred and moved at flickering speed till she was right in his face. She tilted her head towards him, a savagely, satisfied smile, crept across her lips, as he beheld her burned and horribly scarred head. Caleb heard himself whimper as the girl continued her tirade.

"What right have you to live, you filth – when my Mother died, my Father burned with his arms still around her?! What in the name of all that is holy do you think you achieve here? Redemption for you Damned Bloodline?" she scoffed.

The smell of her seared flesh wrought a gag from him.

"Do you know how many futures your tainted blood has blotted out? Can you possibly fathom, the overwhelming good, ending your cursed Family Line would achieve? You hunt and you fight, battling the dark things in the night – what about the evil that lies slick and heavy round your heart… will you destroy that for the greater good too?" She smiled purring malevolently at him. "You are only in the position you are in, so that the latent darkness within you can gain access and extinguish the light. You know this Demon spawn… you fear it when you look at them… the Pastor and…"

Caleb had begun shaking his head furiously.

"No!" he grated "no, no, no …"

"Really?" Cecile crooned as she stroked his forehead leaving a harsh welt where her searing fingertips contacted his skin.

He flinched but dared not look away, denying right down to his very soul that he was capable of harming Jim, let alone …

"What happened to the original Deuce, Caleb… do you recall?"

"No!" he howled, skirting away from her like an upturned crab.

Her grip on his shoulders were vice like and pinned him still. She lowered her face to mere inches from his. "We'll talk again soon, Lucifer."

Slowly, painfully, his head stopped snapping back against the ground. His teeth stopped clenching against the leather belt someone had slid between them. The arms that gripped his shoulders were John's and Bobby's strong grip claimed his feet. The gagging continued and tears ran freely down his face. He was powerless to stop the aftereffects of the seizure he seemed to have endured. Caleb caught sight of Jim gripping a distraught Dean tightly by the shoulders, white knuckles straining to keep the boy at bay while his Father saw to the fallen Psychic.

Reaves realized with a start, that the harsh gasping noise he could hear was the sound of his own struggling breathing as his throat constricted. He wanted to tell John to get that fucking, foul tasting belt … which had better not be the one Bobby sometimes used to keep his dog put … from his mouth. But then he caught sight of her small, cracked, withered face, standing next to Dean. Choking loudly on his own cries, his Amber eyes rolled back into his head and he was finally still.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"_Just call me Lucifer cause I'm in need of some restraint." Sympathy for the Devil –Rolling Stones._

Verity LeHarve excelled in single-minded concentration. It was the difference between a successful crafter and a dead one. She had frayed her tie to the spirit of Cecile Dupree, in order to devote her powers to her larger target. Now all she wanted was to shred the little idiot; but that was no longer an option.

Sweet Cecile had played her hand way too soon. Forcing her spirit into the mind of such a powerful Psychic – in effect, attempting a form of possession to bend his will; was a move that almost ended her afterlife existence. It also gave Verity the Mother of all headaches and a nosebleed that seemed to go on forever. LeHarve had every intention of reestablishing the "chain of command" for her wayward waif! It was her own fault – forgetting that the spirit world did not operate on reason, but on near pure emotion. Although the child did have promise, she had managed to push all the right buttons in Reaves; evoking his past nightmares, appearing in his waking world; unbinding him from within.

As she dabbed the last droplets of blood away, Verity readily admitted that she had severely underestimated Cecile's hunger for vengeance. And she was not a woman who made the same mistake twice.

Her family's magic was old and powerful, and the family name would certainly draw the aid of those bound to it over the centuries. Verity drew some peace of mind from these facts, but going up against an organization of do-gooders with what appeared like infinite resources, on the cusp of a power struggle, was not good strategy or business sense. No, coming to the attention of this Brotherhood, was certainly not desirable – even cavemen throwing rocks got lucky once in a while. The Hunters may not be overly familiar with her world now – but given their history, it would not take long – she had no intention of risking their judgment.

"What are you rambling about? I am **not** ashamed of who I am … Dr Phil! In fact I am fighting to keep the old ways under the new rules. You know I don't require your approval, just your obedience. Weather you tell yourselves that you follow me or my blood, is of no consequence to me… so long as you obey."

She tapped her foot impatiently while she listened to her ethereal companions. They were not subservient, they were old fashioned and temperamental and liked to pretend that they still had free will and what they were doing had been their idea all along. Her Mother had pampered them, Verity had less patience with them and right now all she wanted was their compliance not their opinions. The child was hurtling back to them, and she had to work to realign her leash on the young spirit once more.

"Very well – my Mother had more respect – your right… No I don't care to learn who you once were, because I require your attention in the here and now. Our young friend returns, and if we are all to avoid an undesirable end from these Brotherhood fanatics, we need to drag her into line, finish our target, and leave without causing further curiosity. Agreed?"

As the windows blew in the tall graceful witch strode to the centre of the room. The shrieks and cries that accompanied the frenzied maelstrom did not seem to faze LeHarve at all. Even as Cecile materialized in her ragged clothes, her face horribly scared and twisted in torment, Verity merely arched a brow at her.

"Oh save the amateur dramatics for a more gullible audience girl!" Verity snapped. "I demand that you address me in appropriate attire!"

Cecile might have glared at her like she could happily strangle the older woman, but she slowly shimmered into her pristine violet dress, her blonde curls arranged themselves with care around her smooth buttermilk complexion.

"Better?" the young voice demanded tartly "I wouldn't want the manner of my murder to upset your delicate constitution."

The young girl made a slight swiping gesture to her cheek, indicating the area Verity had a smear of blood on her own face.

Using soft linen drawn from her sleeve, the witch dabbed delicately, whilst throwing the impertinent girl an icy glare. "Self pity bothers me – you have had an eternity to get over it! I offer you a better alternative and outlet for you passions then those poor fools that choose to stay here on this plane and believe they can affect the living in the same manner as before their deaths. I've un-locked the secrets for you. I have sought out the blood that wronged you… and how do you repay me?! With disobedience! I made it very clear that playing the executioner is **not** your part!! I warned you – you are not strong enough to take on a living soul, certainly not **this **one. Don't forget his ancestry, cherub; he is no easy meat."

"_**Forget his ancestry?!" **_Cecile exploded. "Do you believe that I would be aiding such a foul, wretched being as you; if I could forget his ancestor?"

Verity's eyes blazed and Cecile screamed clutching at the air with clawed hands. Le Harve watched the tormented little girl's spirit attempt to fight off the beings she had no chance of defeating, as they tore into her. She watched closely but with a small frown of impatience, as if the lesson were running overtime and she had already dismissed the class.

"Enough" she ordered, after a further pause to take in the far more compliant screams and pleas from the small girl. "We understand each other now, do we cherub – hmm? Yes I thought so."

Verity smiled sweetly at the whimpering, wide eyed girl flickering in and out of being.

"You will get your fill of revenge – but you will do it my way. There can be no traces back to me. No excuses, there are more subtle ways to reach your goal through him. There is no need to be so obvious, child."

To her great pleasure, the girl nodded wild-eyed and with urgent compliance. If only her latest charge could be so easily convinced.

Le Harve reached her hand out to the nodding child. "Come cherub, we must ensure that this set back does not cost us the prize. The Reaves boy will fall – but it will be by his own hand- and once he does…" Verity couldn't help the small glance upward at her cohorts "He will make a most interesting addition to my little band of comrades."

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Mackland was running almost entirely on auto pilot. Probably not wise when he was speeding his way back to Jim's farm, giving about as much notice to the rights of other drivers as John Winchester…. Who could go and hang himself if he thought there was any chance that Caleb was not getting checked out in a proper medical facility! Murphy had made the call that had damn near had the Doctor running himself off the road. His own fault, James had asked him to come off at the safest juncture. The Pastor had also assured him that Caleb had regained consciousness almost immediately and though he was now sleeping, all his vitals appeared stable following the… seizure.

His boy had suffered a seizure. Mac had checked (as far as possible) with Ms. Birdell , Caleb's legal guardian and Grandmothers oldest friend, what the Reaves medical background had been – this had never come up. Mackland had told the Pastor to keep him appraised if their was the slightest change in Caleb's condition, and he'd meet them at the hospital instead.

As he rounded the last turn leading to the Farm's entrance he was thankful for the small blessings – the cars were still there, and so was Caleb. He should have rolled the reluctant teen to the hospital - at the first sign of trouble, he should at least have checked the boy over; how could he have been so lapse?

The debilitating side effects of the horrible visions his son endured on occasion, were bound to leave some physiological mark. He should have been more vigilant following the visions, checking both the mental and physical indicators. As a Neurosurgeon he knew that the brain was such a delicate and complex organ, that it was entirely possible that one could experience an isolated Grand Mal seizure, and the reason never is a hundred percent ascertained. It may never occur again or it may be an indicator that some form of trauma had triggered more permanent conditions.

The Father in him threw aside the cold medical logic wanting nothing less than the ironclad assurance that his boy was okay – the same assurances his Medical mind knew were impossible to supply, even with the right equipment. All those years at Brown and the finest education the Ames fortune could buy still could not guarantee Caleb's wellbeing. Mac tried not to choke on the irony of that.

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"Uh fellas there is a highly polished piece of sensible automobile, tearing up the dirt track on its way here – I'd say this would be a good opportunity to get out your catchers mitt Winchester, cause I'm not sure the Scholar is intending to take his foot off the gas!" Bobby commented in an ever more urgent tone.

In truth Mac did appear to come dangerously close to testing the foundations of Jim's house. He seemed to fly from the car bringing it to a screeching halt almost in the same blurred motion. John drew his eyebrows down and set his face for hurricane Ames.

Mackland entered in a flurry of motion, Jim put a gentle hand on John's forearm and took the lead.

"Mackland, I'm glad you arrived safely. I was a little worried following our conversation. Caleb is resting …with Dean as his sentry no doubt." Jim began in an even tone.

"What happened, Winchester?" Ames demanded sparing the Pastor a respectful nod.

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Caleb Reaves had, had his fair share of strange dreams, but he was pretty certain this would make his all time top three.

Following his brief stray into the conscious world after his lights went out, Caleb had the distinct feeling of being pulled in the wake of someone else's passage. He was stuck to this being and was dragged across a large expanse of colors to a small darkened …. Barn? There was a dank smell in the air that mingled badly with the smell of smoke. The building had not been in use long; the protective symbols on the floor – those he recognized as such- disturbed the carpet of dust, dirt and strewn hay. He'd glimpsed the building on his way in by … Fed-ex, or whatever the Hell had him bouncing around on the weirdest trip of his life… and was amazed it still stood upright.

The sudden appearance of two figures before him caught his attention – had they been there all along? One was a woman on the tail end of twenty, with shoulder length brown hair, medium in build and willowy in stature; she radiated something of a regal air. The way she looked at the second figure and the corresponding emotions that emanated from her left Caleb with no doubt who was the underling in her mind. This certainty was only slightly offset by the stubborn cast to the second individual's shoulders.

Reaves shook his head in a vain attempt to draw focus on the shadow in front of him. His blood ran cold as he realized that he couldn't pull the figure into focus, because it was none other than the misty apparition of Cecile Dupree. He had surely followed the white rabbit down a huge hole, because here was Alice herself standing tall in front of him! Maybe he was losing his mind? Maybe the taller chick was about to pull her head off and reveal that, she was in fact, a Jolly Fat Man who preferred to dress in red and sneak into the homes of children?!!

The argument started with little in the way of introduction on either ladies part; indicating to Reaves that they were familiar with each other. At one point he thought he heard one of them use his surname but he could not be sure, there was something else in the room. The thing or things were like distorted outlines hovering mostly near Cecile's not so well mannered new playmate. They caught Caleb's attention almost immediately, for although he could not see them – it was like someone had hole- punched the fabric of reality itself – he could smell them, and that was enough. They smelled like every waking nightmare he'd had following his parents death, like every hunt site where the monster was quicker than they were, like his Foster Parents apartment after he'd found them bled out … they smelled like death. And instinctively he knew he had to get the fuck out of Dodge, because those unnatural bastards were going to sense him in a second – and that was a scenario he would not walk away from, not in his current Swayzed state.

His mind raced to find a more valid way out than trying to click his heels together. But all he could draw was one big blank. It was then that he felt a sharp pain as fear and panic collided in his mind – his own vulnerability clashing with the emotions of Cecile Dupree. With a wrenching sensation he felt himself snapping back into his body at lightening speed. He let out a slight hiss as his eyes snapped open and almost immediately shut again as he came face to face with the business end of a penlight.

"Caleb?" a soft familiar voice grasped for his attention.

It took a further two blinks to dispel the bright spots of light dancing on the inside of his eyelids, but he hastily drew a calming breath and tried to rid his Father's voice of it's anxious edge.

"Dad" he replied, sounding gravelly to his own ears. "Call off the searchlight will you… you found me!"

Though he hadn't fully pulled his vision into focus he was rewarded with a small chuckle from John and a mildly irritated snort from Mac.

"Nice to see your funny bone wasn't further damaged smartass!" John's teasing held a slight tight quality to it.

Reaves recognized it at once – worry. It was time to get back into the game, there was no way Dr. Ames was going to let him off a visit to the local medical amenities, but a half convincing performance might head off any bright ideas of an overnight stay. After all – only his head felt like it had been squashed in a vice, the rest of him was actually quite well rested.

Mac snapped his fingers to the left drawing an immediate response and a roll of the eye from the teen.

"Do I get to fetch next Dad?" the boy huffed, obviously uncomfortable being the centre of attention.

"Just track the finger Caleb." Mac murmured his attention firmly on his patient's pupils.

"Feeling fine Mac, hint of a headache but otherwise okay … Oh I know I am not getting out of our Medical fieldtrip." Caleb smiled sweetly.

Mackland's face seemed to darken for a moment before he turned to Knight. " Jonathan, could you please be so kind as to give us a moment to get ready, tell James we will be making that trip to the hospital and would appreciate if he accompanied us to smooth out any discrepancies."

When John left the room with a nod, Caleb sensed the rising temperature washing off his Father. To hide his confusion and discomfort he began to get up from the bed.

"What do you think your doing – stay put young man!" the Doctor declared tartly. "For once Caleb, please try to remember, I did not fall to earth in the last rain shower. No matter what patented "I feel fine" tune you're singing … **you** just collapsed, **you** had a seizure and your** damn right** about that "Fieldtrip"! How dare you be so Cavalier about your health?! That's not bravery … it's…"

"Alright!" Caleb snapped. "I get it – why don't I play the part the way you want me to, should I weep a little while I bear my soul to you?! What do you want from me, Ames – or am I just not shaping into the hero mold all that well?!"

"Caleb…" Mackland's warning tone cut across his son's sarcasm, but his face was openly shocked.

Reaves shoulders slumped a little as Mac's hurt started to weave its way through the anger he was reading from the older man, taking the edge off his own mounting temper. The Psychic frowned a little wondering where the hell the spark came from in the first place.

"I don't want to fight, Mac … I'm … sorry. I'm a little off." Caleb ran his hand across his face. His headache was a dull roar now allowing him a little more room to think. Maybe getting the once over wasn't a bad idea.

The older man watched his boy with a cold feeling of helplessness in the pit of his stomach. This was not like the teen at all – even during his darker moments, Caleb had practiced various relaxing techniques over the years, many taught to him by Ames himself, he did not loose control so easily. The martial arts he practiced – his favored form of stress relief – all had discipline and self control at their core, and Caleb was a diligent and skilled student.

Drawing himself together the Doctor decided to first treat the body and then the mind. Mac began to wonder if he'd missed something in Caleb's behavior recently and felt awash of gratitude, not for the first time, that Reaves would have the balancing influence of the Winchester boys over the next few weeks at least.

With a start he realized that Caleb had put on his dark leather jacket and was waiting patiently by the door for him. As he reached the exit he placed a hand on the boys shoulder. Glancing into the young man's earnest but troubled golden eyes he smiled warmly at him squeezing his shoulder encouragingly. For Reaves gestures were easier to deal with than expressed open emotion.

Right now feeling the anxiety and disoriented emotions flowing from the boy, through his contact with the battered coat Caleb wore, Ames realized that there was more to this mystery than he had first realized, and that his confusion was something he shared with the young Psychic.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"_I'm a believer, nothing could be worse. All these imaginary friends._

_Hiding betrayal, driving the nail." Evil Angel- Breaking Benjamin._

Hospital protocol from a patient's perspective was anything but merciful! It completely skipped out the "humane" section of the rule book. Between being stuck like Aunt Bea's favorite pin cushion, by incompetent nurses (who were not even all that into him?!), and having the fact that his ass was hanging out of the pre-emptive, puke colored, backless gown, by a male orderly (who seemed a little too into him…?!) – Caleb was not amused!

Of course this had absolutely nothing to do with the crawling feeling of discomfort and barely reigned in panic that hospitals brought out in him. No that was just the tip of the Emo Iceberg that was threatening to sink him altogether.

He could feel the bundle of raw nerves that was passing itself off as Mackland Ames, currently pacing behind him. Pulling his black Tee over his shoulders and then slipping his head into the neck hole, the young man marveled at how people's very best efforts to "give you some space" actually produced the opposite effect. Of course **that was** his own guilt talking. He had barked something like that at his Father when he'd damn near hyperventilated, before being stuffed into an MRI machine the size of a bread box! The head restraints had not helped; but he had no excuse. Shit scared or not – **no-one** spoke to Mac like that… including himself.

This had been hard on Mac too. Following every relevant seizure related test known to medicine – some run twice because Ames hadn't been overseeing the procedure from the start- they were awaiting the speediest results in the facility's history. Caleb believed he had even heard his Father threaten someone's residency, in favor of the nearest zoo primate at one point. It would have been hilarious under different circumstances, but right now it seemed to fall flat. Right now, Reaves could feel a different form of examination coming. His Dad was unable to reconcile his paternal instincts with his clinical detachment, and he was, to give it a technical diagnosis – Freaking the Hell Out!

Caleb was on the same page as his Father. Feeling out of control in anyway petrified him – and that didn't even cover the acid trip hallucination afterwards. The Psychic had apparently (given that he'd managed to exit stage left of his own volition, before being discovered) used the Force to escape! There was a **whole **list of things wrong with that picture!! He ran through the long list of disturbing elements in his post seizure head trip; the older second player, who seemed to view Cecile as her bitch; the two or more invisible, evil guard dogs; whatever mojo was being conjured could not have been the puppies and lollipops kind and was it happening right now in the present time?

_Or at all freak?! _A small traitorous part of his mind jeered at him. _It's not exactly like you have been Captain of the Sane squad lately!_

The Psychic frowned heavily, the last thing he needed right now was some mild touch of Bitchy Bi-polar screwing with him – his abilities were tied to his emotions and he needed a clear mind to puzzle through all the recent weirdness in his life.

Some part of him knew Cecile was no figment of his imagination. She was an entity in her own right – he'd read her in the dinner, he'd damn near choked on her murderous thoughts at the farm … she was for real, but what was she? No run of the mill spirit could change locations like that – some very powerful force was behind her, and whoever or whatever they were – they didn't seem to like him much!

He had been milling over how to broach the subject with any of the Senior hunters. John was out, as the Jarhead ran on facts and the esp. side of the Supernatural made him nervous. Bobby's mind was a chink wider, but he and John were busy lining up their next hunt. Singer was in no way the sole of discretion – Caleb would have Johnny on his ass in a matter of minutes. Jim would feel the need to involve Mac and that was never going to happen. His Dad was taxed to the limit already; he cast a guilty look at the man now silently studying him from the other half of the room.

"It's at times like this that I wish my talents were as independent as yours," Mac started softly with a rueful smile.

"Not something I would wish on you Dad," Caleb returned with a small smile.

"Well it may have better equipped me to watch over you." The Doctor held his eye firmly. "I wouldn't have needed to put you through today."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Caleb lifted his chin returning his Father's gaze steadily.

"I'm a big boy, Mac – the visions take it out of you sometimes…"

"You're my boy, Caleb, and I am never going to stop wanting to make your trials as few as possible … was this a vision? Did you see something we should be looking into, you didn't say exactly…"

"You didn't give me the chance exactly," Caleb returned in a slightly snappish tone but seemed to relent almost immediately. "I don't know exactly what it was…" he trailed off reluctant to lie outright to his Father.

They were interrupted by a timid knock, and a white coated technician, who wanted nothing more than to deliver his papers and be gone. Mac thanked the nervous young man congenially – but this only seemed to cause more agitation. Apparently newly established hard-ass reputation preceded him. After a practically gibbered, see through excuse, the newcomer exited hastily.

"When it absolutely **has** to be there – on time!" Caleb snarked receiving a raised eyebrow from the elder man.

Ames continued to study the charts and reports held in the manila folder, whilst Reaves tried to find a distraction of any kind in the insipidly decorated room. As if on cue and yet entirely unannounced, a blonde head popped around the corner of the door, hand over eyes.

"You're decent right, Damien? 'Cause I don't think that our friendship would survive the rear end gown man!" the young boy quipped.

Despite himself, Reaves let out a snorted laugh. "You just wish, Deuce! Don't worry you won't see anything over the queue of eligible young nurses forming an orderly queue."

Dean stepped in to the room throwing an angelic smile at his best friend. "Now are there separate queues for the dudes, because this guy, Mark, who works the front desk would be very interested – you know how Jim likes us to help out those in need?"

Reaves let out a genuine laugh before answering sarcastically. "Bite me, short-ass."

"Gentleman," Mac began with mock sternness "Your concern for each other is touching – but I am trying to work here."

Caleb felt the connection he shared with Dean cloud with worry immediately, the light-heartedness evaporated.

"What have you found, Mac?" the boy asked in a half voice.

Mackland glanced at his son seeking permission. Reaves barely inclined his head answering in a similarly subdued tone, "It's Deuce."

Dean felt his heart swell and clench simultaneously, Damien was a little paler than normal, and he'd overheard Bobby talking to his Dad about the teen's uncharacteristic clashes with his Father – Damien was scared. Dean knew his best friend's history with hospitals and without the aid of psychic superpowers he could read the cornered vibe in every inch of Caleb's body language.

Mackland cleared his throat and addressed his Son. "You had a Grand Mal seizure, from the details Pastor Jim gave. Your tests show a significant electrolyte imbalance, which may have triggered it – but equally your temporal lobe is experiencing some unusual activity according to your ECG. I need to do a little more checking…"

"Uh, Mac I'm still in the Fourth grade… electrolyte what?" Dean quizzed with a grave look well beyond his years.

Ames tried to moderate his answer so as not to scare the boy; his son firmly had his game face on and was giving away nothing.

"Well electrolyte's are minerals in your body that control the water balance, their imbalance can occur through excessive sweating and electrolyte imbalance is one of the most likely causes of seizure in this case, though the EEG temporal lobe scan also highlighted some unusual brain activity which is a more common cause of isolated seizure. Although we should not close our eyes to the possibility that…"

"This may not be isolated and my brain might actually short circuit on a regular basis," Caleb finished in a flat monotone.

Ames closed the gap between him and his son and tried to conceal his hurt when the boy flinched at his touch. "I sent your results to a close friend of mine, he's very well read in this field, and he concurs that the follow up indicators of a seizure disorder are not prominent."

Caleb was rigid under his touch – as if the boys crossed arms were holding him together. Mac reluctantly broke contact and mumbled something about seeking a few further details, before leaving the room.

Dean didn't move, he gave Damien the space he knew he needed. In his mind the older boy's midnight run sprang instantly to mind, coupled with the early morning Winchester training regime it seemed the most likely culprit for Caleb's episode. The young boy frowned as he forced down the urge to slap his best friend upside the head… and then run. No, on second thoughts he would stand and take what the blockhead dished out just so the asshole didn't literally run himself into the ground!

"That's never going to happen." The psychic dismissed with surety.

"What?" Dean demanded with an edge to his voice that gave away the thoughts Damien had so obviously been snooping in.

Golden eyes met his and the torn look in them made Dean want to rethink his harsh judgments and just help his friend dispel whatever Demon was gnawing at him.

"You were watching me last night weren't you?" the teen's voice held a hint of accusation.

"You were running like a Wendigo was on your ass, Damien – what's going on with you, man? If you don't trust me enough to tell me then talk to your Dad, dude – he's as straight up as they come and…"

"You are asking me to seek a hand holding session with my old man, Deuce? I have explained about his Enya collection right?" Caleb answered with a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Reaves had no intention of worrying Deuce further, it pissed him off a little that the kid had taken to shadowing him, but he had meant what he'd said in the dinner – he had his best friends back, even when he was being an annoyingly insightful midget Mother Hubbard!

Dean sighed, recalling his conversation with Pastor Jim where he had partly revealed his growing concern for his friend. When Damien had hit the ground Dean had moved past his frustration at his friend's characteristic stonewalling, and slid directly to deep seated dread. Now, hearing Mac's best guess at the cause of Reaves collapse, he couldn't help adding in the facts that he knew and wondering if it was in fact time to call on the Pastor for help?

"No – Deuce… I got it in hand man; there is no need to worry Jim." Caleb interjected quickly.

"Personal space means nothing to you does it, Damien?" Dean grated.

"Says the Super-spy." The teen challenged with an irritated tone. "Look kid – my business is my business…"

"Who the fuck are you calling **KID,** Lucifer?!" Dean threw back his voice climbing with anger. "As for your business – I 'm the one that covered for you when you took Dad's Jeep to hook up with that college Freshman last spring, I'm the one who cleared up Jim's special brew, after it had passed through your damn system following your pity party this New Year in the Barn and I'm…."

"Why bother, Deuce – if it's such a BIG fucking chore – who the hell asked you to? I can look out for myself! I'm your damn Nanny remember?! Look man, I know you are trying to look out for me, but I got it … I swear…Leave. It. Alone, Deuce."

There was a slight pained quality to the older boy's voice that trumped Dean's offensive. But he couldn't afford to let the idiot go on "taking it on the chin" -till his jaw broke! Damien's damn precious Hero's Code, was his greatest asset and the very thing Dean got the feeling he needed saving from right now.

"Fine Dickhead! I'll back-off, but all your snooping in my head, should have told you that there is no fucking way I am leaving you to it! You are in a fucking hospital, Damien – your Goddamned stubbornness will be the death of both of us!"

Caleb flinched slightly – the kid had inherited his Daddy's Guilt trip road map.

"Hunter's in training; never say die, Deuce." The psychic joked matter of factly, trying to salvage the situation.

"That's the Goonies, moron!" Dean grunted.

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Entering his own room after what seemed like a real long time, Caleb slung his backpack on the floor and face planted himself in the deep comfortable mattress. The journey had been pleasant – not really a huge accomplishment given his nightmarish past couple of days. He and Mac had ended up sharing the driving – Deuce still had flight issues. Bobby and Johnny had taken an early start on their hunt in Albany, leaving the Scholar in the most novel role of sole Adult on a road trip. With his face buried in the delicately fragranced bedding, Caleb broke into a huge grin at the thought of Mac's face when they'd cranked the volume to Highway to Hell… the first time.

He knew it wouldn't be long before the two boys finished unpacking and sought him out. Resting in the brief lull Caleb let his mind skim the slightly unpleasant issue of his return to St Martin's tomorrow. He took slight solace from the fact that Deuce would be around and Sammy in the Foundation building of the well established uptown New York school. His Father had waited till the Knight was out of earshot before telling the boys that they had been enrolled. John could be a little touchy on money matters, a fact that was sometimes infuriating when Caleb compared the run down motels he'd visited the boys in. But the hunt was guaranteed to last for at least another two weeks, given the lunar cycle, and in that time the final semester was drawing near enough to a close that, perhaps Ames thought his friend would concede and let his boys finish the year out.

Sammy was so psyched that Caleb prayed his Father was right about Johnny giving in. Most six year olds did not glue themselves to glossy Prep School brochures – but Reaves had always sensed that Sammy was special. Deuce had looked torn between his elation to be sticking around Caleb, his Father and their huge big screen, but troubled at the thought of going to a school were the Students socks were on auto-reorder from the latest Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. His fears were set aside when Mac casually threw in a question about Deuce's collar size whilst talking to one of his assistants – measurements for the uniforms he had already had on order. Deuce's face then scrunched up at the thought that 'collar measurements' might actually translate into 'School Tie'. Caleb had balled up laughing when that stray thought had floated across to him. He earned a well practiced elbow for his trouble – from his Dad!

In truth Caleb was bouncing as much as Sammy at the thought of having his extended family here. It was like a soothing balm for his overly taxed senses and frayed nerves. He even smoothed things out with Mac on the drive down. He'd set the physician's mind at ease by taking the replenishment fluids the attending Doctor had prescribed with zero resistance. He smiled to himself as he got up and abruptly came to a frozen halt when he came face to face with a searing pair of grey- blue eyes.

"Holy shit!" the psychic exclaimed drawing back slightly, only to find himself alone in the room.

His heart was racing, and his palms were slicked as he rolled off the bed and landed on the balls of his feet agiley. Grabbing for the front pocket of his backpack he retrieved a small plastic bottle containing rock salt and began to search his room. Losing himself in the task he could just about turn off the frenzied questions that sprang instantly to mind. They all came down to the same answer – he was being hunted by Cecile Dupree's spirit.

_So you possess some intellect beyond your inbred need to destroy then?_

Her voice was an unwelcome assault on his senses; it was like he was hearing her in technicolor.

"Why are you doing this, Cecile?" Caleb asked clearly, but in his normal voice – not wanting to announce his dementia to his Father.

_May have judged the intellect too hastily then? Or, perhaps my agonizing death at the hands of your blood was just too delicate a hint?_

Reaves shivered. "Don't tie me to that – I am **nothing like him!**"

_Him… or them? You are fated to be as all the men in your cursed family- an evil, murderous killer. You know this – you witnessed it with your own eyes didn't you?_

There was more than a hint of mocking in her tone and his pain and anger stung his eyes almost instantly.

"Shut your mouth about them… you don't know the first thing about them!"

_I don't know the first thing, about what it's like? I have shared with you my last moments on earth- you lost your parents… I lost everything! Your cursed family have done nothing but bloody the waters - and you in your almighty arrogance think you will be different? Why so – isn't your blood as tainted as theirs- your so called family mean less to you than your pride, at least Isaac had the decency to bow out. You think you have known pain or suffering mongrel? I assure you the class is in session – I will not let you do to others what your wretched family has done in the past!_

Caleb's protests bubbled uselessly in his throat as he dropped to his knees clutching both his ears. The scream of the seagull was torturously loud and the accompanying slam of the waves caused him to grit his teeth to keep his own pained cries in. He took several shallow breaths as his Mother's voice seemed to mingle, sharply piercing the bird's calls with both volume and misery. His eyes clenched tightly as his bowed forehead touched the floor, the aural assault effectively immobilizing him. And then it was gone. Cecile's whisper came wafting to him as if borne on one of the phantom waves.

_Do the right thing for once __**– Seaver**__. Be the hero you pose as… One for all._


	7. Chapter 6a

**A/N;**

Sorry if this was a little misleading – I am still getting the hang of posting here and really needed to credit my Amazing Beta, LovinJackson. Thanks to her chapter, Five and Six contained fewer spellings that I did my way -  and grammar liberties. Her enthusiasm really helped chapter six came about in record time, any remaining mistakes are all mine.

Abi.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N; **Thanks to all who have been reading along with this - I really appreciate your reviews and offer this humungoid chapter as penance for keeping you waiting sooo long!

Thanks as always to the Fully Awesome Lovin'Jackson for her beta skills but also the speed with which she slaps me into line (LOL) - no kidding, your amazingly patient Tara!!! All faults from here on in are mine. Hope you enjoy... running to hide now!!!!

**Chapter Seven**

"_Just as every cop is a criminal, And all sinners are saints." Sympathy for the Devil – Rolling Stones._

Sammy couldn't ever figure out why the older people got, the longer they seemed to take choosing their ice-cream. Caleb had to be asked three times; and then he told Sam to pick for him. Sam didn't mind really, Caleb often did pretty cool stuff for him, so helping him out now was no biggie. Caleb's Green dragon, drawn on his plain backpack – had given him the coolest bag in his class last month when Dad had been down in Virginia. The psychic was always slipping him and Dean treats, and he never heard Dean laugh as much as he did with Caleb.

Sammy circled his triple scoop Banana Heaven, making it resemble the leaning tower in Italy a little less, while he watched his brother and Caleb. They walked slightly ahead of Mac and him, weaving their way through the New York crowds. And Caleb hadn't even touched the Rocky Road! What a waste! Maybe he should help him re-cycle?

"Sammy wants this, Deuce," Caleb stated passing the dripping cone to the blonde boy, "give it to him before his puppy dog look burns a hole in the back of my head will you?"

Dean laughed. "No way Damien, you don't have to share a room with the Nesquick Bunny after all that sugar. Why'd you let him pick for you anyways – you hate Rocky Road?"

"Didn't want to hurt the runts feelings – you know how he starts to rock in the corner if you correct him on one of his special fields of knowledge."

"I'll take 'Know It All-ness' for Five hundred please, Alex!" Dean chuckled. He threw his friend a side glance "Maybe you should finish it, you didn't eat much. I know you're not fond of pasta but it was a pretty fancy place, they could probably have rustled you up a pizza?"

Caleb barked out a laugh thinking how Mac would have loved ordering a pizza from one of the best Italian chefs in town. "Yeah maybe next time."

Dinner had been pleasant enough despite his wandering thoughts drifting to the dark side every now and then. Reaves used every trick in his arsenal not to give in to the fearful whispers fogging his mind. He'd tried to stay focused on the conversation as much as he could, given that his head had been pounding like a drum solo. What was helping him hold it together was that he hadn't heard from Cecile again. Maybe he had stumbled across a way of blocking her?

Light laughter cut through his musing.

Maybe not!

He didn't have to ask what she wanted – she had been pretty explicit in her wishes and language. In fact he would rather have had her call him any number of names on Pastor Jim's blacklist, than the profanity she settled on. Dead or not, the little bitch had called him…

"ciever…" Dean continued.

"**What'd you** call me?" Caleb growled, slowing and turning to look at his friend darkly.

Dean looked baffled, as he glanced at the towering teen with a raised eyebrow and frozen icy look.

"Uh – I … was talking about the Sox wide-receiver being well off the ball this season – you okay Damien… you look like someone just peed in your Cheerio's?

"Boys what's the problem? We are two minutes from the apartment? Mack interrupted catching up to them.

"Nothing, Mac," Caleb dismissed, speeding up "Let's get back; I got to hit the head."

"Charming, Caleb" Mackland returned sourly, putting a guiding hand on Dean's shoulder and steering him in the wake of comet Reaves.

Dean let himself be carried along. He was trying to recall what element of his commentary on the season had managed to get under his friends skin. He slung the thought aside immediately – what the hell could be offensive in Baseball?? Damien was tripping out to planet Head case again and this time Dean made his mind up to confront the older youth after everyone had settled in.

Something about Satan's reactions over the past few days had been triggering every alarm Dean had – he was withdrawing into himself, and for Damien that was not usually a good move.

Something struck Dean hard, causing his breath to catch. The psychic had accused him of calling him something. When he'd received the jaw realignment; it had been like Reaves was lashing out at some attacker … although he had the older boy's word that the nightmares had not been about him, Dean wondered what other subject could inspire the night terrors he had heard. He knew of only a few things that could twist his friend so visibly – usually Damien's shields were at a greater strength than his own – he'd practiced staying in control of his emotions till it was an art form, Dean admired. Something was cutting away at those defenses… or someone? Dean didn't understand a lot about the psychic talents his friend possessed, but he wondered if they were not the cause of all the out of character behavior. In the hospital Mac had mentioned unusual brain activity. It had to be pretty freaking out there, if it was allowing Lucifer to look like he was about to throw down, because Dean was slating a wide-receiver.

Dean's head shot up where he'd only half been paying attention he now realized that they had re-entered the apartment and Caleb had made tracks for his bedroom.

Mac and Sam were deep in discussion about the supplies that had already been packed and the two backpacks that lay waiting for the morning's school run. Mac had offered to "supply" new bags too but Dean had turned him down knowing his Father would already be pulling faces at the stationary trip that had occurred on Sammy's say so. When Mackland saw how upset Dean was at his well intentioned underhanded maneuver, he had apologized and offered the pasta dinner as a peace offering. Dean would never have held it against Mac. He knew how much the Doctor cared for him and Sammy. Besides Sammy was having the time of his life here, and Dean had to admit that, freakish Damien behavior aside, it was nice to be here. His thoughts of his best friend had him moving towards his room practicing his speech. He kept trying to come up with an alternative to;

"_What the fuck, Damien?!!"_

"Dean." Mack halted him in his tracks. "I wonder if I could garner your help getting Sam off to sleep, I know I don't stand a chance without the expert!" Ames grinned warmly.

Dean's smile was only a little stretched. He appreciated the Scholar's efforts at making them feel at home. Sam however had other idea's – he had Mac wound round his little finger and wasn't going to give up that kind of power easily.

"Ah com'on, Mac – you were going to tell me the history of Saint Martin's – so I'd have four arms?!!!"

"That's fore-armed, Samuel," Mac laughed and glanced inquiringly at Dean.

"Sure I'll help if you'd like, Mac, but I think Sammy just gave you the green light."

"Is that right, Samuel - are you going to take it easy on me?" Mac asked as he and the younger Winchester headed off down the corridor to the other end of the enormous New York brown stone.

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Caleb reached the safe haven of his bathroom. Safe was a relative term these days – he was safe from having to fake an answer for Deuce at the moment for why he went Jack Torrence on him back there. What he was not safe from was the unwanted squatter currently talking up a storm inside his head. His best blocks could only keep her at a muffled buzzing, he couldn't make out what she was saying but she was behind his eyes now- under his skin; and there was no getting away from the wave after wave of hatred and blame washing over him. He ran some water over his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror. A lone thought drifted to him – wafer thin, holding together tenuously – but holding.

_What if she's right? What if I am going Kujo?_

Drawing his eyebrows down sharply, he glared at himself in the mirror. That did it – he had to get out of here! Fresh air and some distraction might shut the voice up. He exited the restroom with a determined gate, snagging the door handle and jerking it open in time to almost trip over Duece.

"Jesus – Dean!" he barked barely keeping his balance.

"It's not my problem you have all the stealth and balance of Mr Wheeble, Damien!" Dean snapped back.

Caleb looked at him with an unreadable expression, before barging past him and heading for Mac, leaving Dean in his wake. If he had turned he would have seen the torn look of hurt and worry that the younger boy wore, or the way he swipped hastily at his eyes before loosing a few choice oaths and stalking away. But Reaves' full time efforts to block out Ceciel also effectively muted some of the other psychic impressions around him.

The teen found a soggy Mac reading to Sammy from the Saint Martins brochure for a bedtime story. The Doctor looked up from the pages throwing his son a boyish grin.

"This is our Samuel's version of taking it easy on me" he chuckled indicating his damp attire.

"Yeah well, if I were Sammy, I'd be getting a few shots in too; if I knew the horror story you were going to try to put me to sleep with." Caleb remarked dryly, indicating the school prospectus.

Mackland frowned at the unnecessary harsh edge to the teen's voice, but before he could voice the mild rebuke that rose to mind Sam beat him to it.

"Your school rocks, Caleb – thank you for sharing it. You must be sad to be leaving it right?" Sammy gushed earnestly, wide-eyed and utterly solemn.

Caleb's face drew into a scornful grimace "Oh it's just tearing me up inside, runt."

"Caleb!" his Father barked sharply "may I have a quick word?"

"Let me save you the trouble, I am sure Sammy knows I am joking." Reaves glanced briefly at the six year old who looked anything but sure, before carrying on. "I think I have a few pre-school nerves I'd like to turn in early, Dad, okay?"

"Sure Caleb, is there anything I can…."

"No," Caleb dismissed quickly "I think the sleep will set me up for tomorrow."

_Why the hell can't he be like other parents and just loose interest?!_ The Psychic fumed silently.

_**I doubt you would understand normal Fatherly instincts mongrel, so I won't waste my breath… you have no room to judge – you would likely devour your young!!!**_

Cecile's wretched voice sliced its way through his distracted defenses before he could put a lid on her. He turned on his heel with a brief goodnight to his Father and Sammy before all but fleeing to his room. Plugging his headphones into his sleek streamlined sound system he cranked the classic rock till his ear drums begged for mercy, and resolved to wait out the other occupants of the apartment. There was no way he could risk going to sleep tonight. And just like that… his body betrayed him.

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He jerked as he fell back into himself. Painfully folding to fit into his own shell, he registered the smoke and the popping noise of the flames. The fire dominated his vision but he managed to hear… No actually taste, the fear of the small unit of people cowering behind the disheveled pews - three of them, hearts pounding, ducking lower than was physically comfortable…

As he advanced towards the pathetic hideout with every intention of making it the last resting place of the Dupree's, he caught sight of his reflection in a framed picture of the child Jesus. The hair was a dirty blonde and brushed the nape of his neck, resting lightly on the white collar that had once marked his salvation and now flaunted his pending damnation. An insolent grin split his face in two as he cast his amber eyes over the cherub features of the child in the painting. To others it was a serene expression, to him – with the new eyes his benefactor had lent him, it seemed submissive and weak. He was breaking his final tie with his old ways today. This was an offering to his new ally – to show that he was not to be counted amongst the sheep. The thought of his new power source brought his attention back to his reflection and for a brief moment his irises shimmered giving way to a burnished hard gold. His smile became one of renewed fervor.

_One should always face their fears – only the strong survived._

He was about to go clarify this concept – it would be the final word the Dupree's received.

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An electric bolt connected his knife hand directly to his waking mind. Both came alive with a jolt, snapping like a pair of ravenous jaws driven by pure instinct and coming to rest with a near deadly finality against his Father's jugular. He was as taught as a tight rope, struggling to catch his breath, to get his bearings as the world shifted round him.

_I share that Bastards eyes… I have his eyes, I have his eyes, I have his eyes, I…._

Old memories, foreign memories, shared thoughts that made his skin crawl and his hand shake, drawing a scarlet crayola etch across the sweat glistening canvas of the older man's neck. Blinking his eyes repeatedly he banished the hazy water color of his Fathers image – his waking nightmare.

Caleb took sharp erratic lungful of air through his nose as he continued to battle for control. Finally he heard the sound of his anchor, his Father's voice as he knocked at the door, telling him the time like some congenial talking clock. Reaves nearly wept as he relinquished the razor edge he had been balanced on, crumpling back onto the bed.

_Dream, it had been a waking – seriously fucked up – D.R.E.A.M. And Mac was not in fact staring with horror at the Viper he had taken in and raised, who'd tried to give him a Columbian neck tie!_

His Father knocked on his door again. Even his show of manners sounded pissed. Reaves groaned shakily as he tilted out of bed.

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"Caleb, you're going to make the boys late, I know your timing is subject to the Winds of change – but I thought we'd agreed…"

Ames was halted by the swish of a door being flung open and the tenant stepping out, parade style with a slightly disheveled look to his marginally rumpled blazer. The dark glasses hid the expression but the undone white shirt cuffs, army boots and loosened tie gave the finger almost as loudly. The Doctor's jaw dropped. He managed to regain enough composure to snag the Ray Bans off his son's face as he strode by.

"You're not exactly dressed according to…" Ames had begun to chide on autopilot but found his reprimand choked off by the dark circles round his boys eyes,

Caleb felt the cresting wave of concern washing towards him; it was more than he could deal with right now. He didn't deserve Mac's pity – hell he didn't deserve Mac, and the more he had to deal with his adoptive Father's feelings of love and compassion, the greater the anger that was building in him. He had to put some distance between them. Snatching the shades back from his mute parent, he slammed them on moodily.

"Fuck sakes, Mac – make your mind up, either you want me to fit in with Richey Rich and Vulgar Veronica or not?! This **is **how all the **cool **kids dress!"

He didn't break stride as he scooped Sam hurriedly, but gently by the hand and ploughed out the door.

"You coming to the circus or what, Deuce?" he demanded of a dumbstruck Dean.

Mackland was about to follow the high strung teen out into the corridor and drag him back inside – Winchester academy or not, when his phone went off.

"Yeah, Ames?" he answered more than a little rudely.

"What? No the boys are fine they have just gone … you're almost done? That was fast – are you sure…? No damn it – is it a Knight thing to assume an implied challenge in every enquiry?! Is it catching, Winchester?!"

Ames took note of the important details but his mind had already wandered to his son. Something was going on with his boy, the spilt second reading he'd gotten from the sunglasses was panicked and disjointed and very like the lost little boy he had first taken in. It worried Ames that despite the tough guy persona the teen was desperate to keep up he was… petrified.

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Saint Martin's was exactly how he imagined it to be. Tall, imposing, old and it smelled like money. Dean was grateful that Damien had flat out refused the Ames Rolls and opted for the far more modest bus option. When they jumped off, they faced a fifteen minute hike up the school's well landscaped drive. Since arriving, the barely lukewarm reception the three of them had received had Dean all but praying for the homeroom bell and Dean did not pray.

Damien assured him that it had to do with his black sheep status, but Dean was too worldly to fall for that. He saw the full gauntlet of expression from the Social- worker-esque, look of pity that his teacher gave him, to the wrinkled nose look of contempt the snotty kindergartner Sammy sat next to threw him. They were dressed like any other student at Saint Martin's except for the important difference – the cloth didn't fit them.

As Dean approached Damien's back in the hallway by the senior home rooms – which as far as he could tell was better kitted out than his last school classroom – his defenses bristled; Damien was in Mother Hen mode. It was a stance Dean could pick out a mile off – and Reaves was in full on Lancelot armor … defending their honor or some such shit.

From the looks of the four taller, uglier youths gathered round Damien and his fair-haired sparing partner; she was no Gwenivere. As he approached the stunning blonde, he marveled at her perfectly styled hair and flawless complexion – the girl was hot, and under any other circumstances Damien would be hitting on her so fast her head would spin, but instead the slight grate to his friends tone told the younger boy that he was barely resisting the urge to do something drastic. From the scraps of conversation that had reached him, the girl, Catherine, was just getting started. He stopped just out of eye line but near enough to Damien for him to lend a hand if necessary.

"Oh my God, Caleb, were your little friends bussed in?" Catherine giggled. "I mean did anyone **see** that hideously oversized jacket?"

Caleb gritted his teeth as her light musical voice sawed through his last nerve.

"Well sweetheart – what if they did? It sure beats the short bus **you**, appear to be ridding these days."

Reaves couldn't help grinning cockily at Sebastian Craig, who had been draped over his girlfriend feigning disinterest. The waiflike heir to a major shipping fortune had begun to turn redder, until his face threatened to clash with his orange cashmere sweater scarf.

"We got this, Seb." the biggest of Craig's entourage stepped up.

"Don't strain yourself there, Mungo," Caleb sneered "maybe your boss, the King Pinhead, should explain one or two possible consequences of the course of action you're contemplating. Your fingers all move now, right … Seb?"

Seb Craig rolled his eyes, dramatically turning his back on Reaves in a dismissive manner.

"Leave the Freak." He ordered haughtily over his shoulder, steering Catherine with him.

"What'd you say?" Caleb growled in a flat dangerous voice, even as the peal of laughter ghosted in his head.

He could tell Cecile's voice easily from the sniggers going on round him; hers ran red hot and scalded his senses. He felt a small hand grasp his forearm, and for a split second was afraid to look down and face her sharp accusing gaze. But he realized the touch did not burn on contact. He looked down and registered Deuce's urgent grip.

Dean clung to his friend. Caleb had turned to stone under his touch, he noted almost subconsciously that the older boy had taken up an offensive first position – his right foot was delicately balanced and poised to strike out. Craig may not have realized how lucky he was to have obeyed his survival instincts and just keep walking, ignoring the challenge Caleb issued. When the teen met his gaze, Dean increased his grip on Damien's wrist, afraid of the murderous look in his slightly glassy eyes.

"What are you doing, Damien?" Dean hissed "I don't give a shit what they think about my Goddamn dress sense! Stand. Down. Caleb!"

Slowly the metal melted and Reaves seemed to come back to himself.

"I need to hit the head." He growled shaking off the boys grip and glaring at the braver passers by.

With out explanation the Psychic took off. From the little he had learned of the Schools vast complex, Reaves had not in fact taken the most direct route to the restrooms, but was beating a swift path for the stairwell to the main roof access. Dean, like his friend, always ensured he knew two things about any location he was at – all the exits, and how to gain the high ground.

He was about to follow Reaves when the bell signaled a mass exodus to fourth period classes, and his designated School Buddy turned up out of nowhere to escort him to his next class. From the pronounced dimples and glowing school spirit she was literally possessed by- he was pretty sure that Blair's dictionary didn't contain words like "tardy" or "cutting" or "exorcism" for that matter. As he threw her a charming full watt smile he wondered how long before all the sugar in Blair could force him into a diabetic coma?

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Slamming the door leading to the roof outward with more force than necessary, Caleb had anticipated it being locked. The noise that accompanied his entrance to the roof was masked by the warning bell so would not attract attention. He wondered idly why the roof had been left open. Greg, the head of maintenance was a pretty solid guy; he'd lent Caleb the keys a couple of times, when he needed a refuge or a hideout. Rounding the corner he expected to find Greg or one of his co-workers taking a breather away from all the stuffiness below. He stopped short as he came upon the last person he expected to find there.

"Sophie." He nodded by way of greeting and question.

The dark haired girl raised her slightly unfocused gaze and tilted her head to the side, hazel eyes reading his lean frame like a book.

"You've run into Seb already." She asserted tipping the silver hip flask in his direction.

Walking over to the spot she was leaning over and shook his head politely as he leaned on the rail beside her.

"You got all that from the way I walk? And your Brother thinks I'm the freak!" he snorted.

Sophie looked panicked, as if he'd threatened something crucial to her and he growled in disgust. "Oh give it up Sophie – if I wanted to out your dirty little secret to your inbred brother I wouldn't have handed him my head on a platter – or taken the suspension!"

She relaxed visibly. "Screw you Reaves – I didn't ask you to go throwing round your Superman cape… besides my Daddy isn't a Saint in training like yours… it would NOT be alright for a Craig to be anything other than normal. And Seb has already called me to Bitch about you."

"There is nothing wrong with you for Christ's sake, Sophie – you're a medium, and as far as those Superpowers go, yours are never going to get in the way of all that Daddy and Big Bro has planned for you."

"So you're insulting my puny abilities **and **mocking my family in the same breath, you have some nerve." She glared at him but there was no heat in her voice. "How have you been anyway – you look like shit, thought your Daddy was a Doctor? Shouldn't you get him to check you out?"

Reaves grabbed her hand and took the flask she had offered earlier.

"Why you talking to me, Sophie? Didn't you get the internal memo about hanging out with the 'New Money'?" his voice was bitter as he took a healthy swig.

"You and my brother were always more interested in the label game, me I'd just like to get full nights sleep again." She sighed wistfully.

He pressed his hand against his forehead. The burning liquid dulled the sharpness of the constant chatter and his temper was deflating by degrees.

"Yeah well if wishes were ponies – right, sweetheart?" he groused taking a more convincing swig.

"You know you think you are so fucking different, Reaves, but lets face it your just as screwed in the head as the rest of us – we all have our own family billing to live up to"

Caleb laughed in that way that scared himself and made Sophie take a step back subconsciously. "For all our sakes? I hope not," He snarked. "We are even, Sophie dearest – you wouldn't understand why I did what I did, and I won't be making the same mistake in a hurry."

Sophie Craig looked beyond wounded. Reaves had unexpectedly taken the fall for her so to speak, after she had treated him like dirt for the better part of the year. It was the one event in her miserable life that had actually given her cause to hope that there was a way other than the 'kill or be killed' route through life her Father laid down and her brother followed as scripture.

"Oh no Darlin,' that there is the Gospel truth," Reaves chuckled, reading her morose thoughts. "One should always face their fears. Only the strong ..."

Caleb blanched and felt the liquor mix badly with his churning stomach acids when he realized he was quoting his Great Grandfather. He barely caught the tail end of the girl's tirade, where "fuck you, Caleb!" appeared to be the central theme, as she stalked away.

His knees gave and he slid down the wall actually grateful for the strong liquor, that when administered seemed to leave Cecile dumbstruck.

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Cecile Dupree watched the folded youth hunched against the wall from a distance. He appeared so brittle now compared to the cocky irreverent youth she had first encountered. The only problem was? Caleb Reaves' undoing was no longer her work alone. From the words the boy had just spoken, the ones that had served to send her own spirit reeling, she had a feeling she knew where the other influence stemmed from. The link was whisper thin, but it was undeniably there. The stench of that Monster's touch was an affront to her. The question being; was this merely the Seaver's unnatural fate playing out, or was she actually being double crossed? Was Verity LeHarve plotting to bring down a monster, or raise one? She knew of only one way to find out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Eight**

"_Least I don't need to beg or borrow. Yes I'm living at a pace that kills." Running with the Devil. Van Halen._

Getting wasted on the first day back had not been part of his plans. Caleb put the lid firmly back on the sleek Tiffany hip-flask he'd borrowed from Sophie.

_Pull it the fuck together Reaves! Hunter's handbook 101 – scared patsies make easy targets for spirits and possession… I am so not giving that spiteful little Bitch that pleasure!_

Firming up his resolve through sheer stubbornness, the teenage Psychic pulled himself up off the floor. This was a whole new layer of shit Cecile seemed to be trying to pull him through – dredging up and using what she remembered of his Psychotic great-grandfather, was crossing a line she would sorely regret.

For a second he reconsidered trying to talk to Mac or Jim or even Johnny, because facing the disgust or judgment in their eyes, could not feel as cold and ashen as the weight of fear lining the pit of his stomach. That voice, that memory… had to be courtesy of Cecile's mind tricks. The alternative was that he was finally loosing the plot.

"Like Dad" he whispered hoarsely, scared to allow his fears to leak into the light of day.

He dragged a hand across his face as if he could scrub away the surge of panic that went along with that thought. Slowly he opened his eyes and glanced at the rail. Resting his hands on the bar he pushed forward, tipping his weight heavily on both hands. As his feet began to lift off the cement floor his forearms shook, protesting the weight of his six foot then some form. He watched the muscles under his tanned skin flex and contract, strain and pull – he welcomed the uncomfortable sensation of their trial and the near lightheaded sensation his mind was slipping into as he inched further forward.

As a hunter he would have to have amazing discipline. Because – of course he was not going to be just any hunter – he would be the tainted one, the demon offspring, whose loyalties would always be in question.

His palms had long ago begun to sweat with the exertion of balancing his weight and keeping himself the right side of the four storey drop.

Mac and the others would forever be defending him to other hunters – hadn't that shithead Fisher showed him that? Fisher, Hastings and even fucking Sawyer didn't look at him like he was new meat, when they threw him that hazing party… they stared at him like he was rancid… rotten, filthy… No matter how well trained he was, how many hunts he took on – he would never be accepted. Hell even Deuce was beginning to look a little frayed round the edges – he was probably looking down the road to the time when he and Caleb would be hunting together, like they'd always planned, and wondering if Caleb really was someone who could be counted on.

He frowned as his left wrist buckled and he toppled awkwardly, catching his shoulder on the bar and shouting the kind of oath Johnny would have been proud to loose.

"Well fuck them!" he growled. "Fuck all of them! I never asked for a babysitter or the Nanny Job!" he rubbed absently at his shoulder.

"Caleb?" the soft voice called as if unsure weather this was the best course of action.

Caleb spun quickly to face the person his reeling mind had already begun to comprehend from the accent. The fact that a civilian had gotten the drop on him was just plain embarrassing – more so than having been caught cussing at the wind.

"Sophie …" he faltered.

"Are you alright?" her voice was genuinely concerned and even as he lowered his shields a little to get a read on her he could feel her emotions reaching out to him.

He stayed still, feeling a little guilty as she walked over to him and tentatively put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Your not … your usual self…" she gave him a quick cautious look, checking to see if she'd crossed a line.

When he gave no response except to drop her gaze she went on.

"I know my brother and I have not given you any reason to … well lets face it we behaved like dicks!" she conceded drawing a rare smile from him. "But no matter what type of person you think I am Caleb, I owe you."

She said the last sentence as if she was working to convince herself. Reaves was tempted to save himself the threatening Emo moment by reading her, but something in the determined look on her face told him that, this was costing her privileged Prada wearing conscience severely – and who the hell was he to judge anyone?

"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind Soph? Then we can both spare ourselves the trauma of being in each other's company …"

"Stop that!" she ordered solemnly "I didn't come back to argue… I am trying to help you…"

"'M fine." He rolled off easily, even though he knew his face didn't match his tone.

Sighing she swallowed like she had tasted something awful. "I don't know if this is how it works… I mean all I saw that last time was a shadow, and I freaked out, I only really have your word for what **you** say is happening to me… I mean…" she halted eyeing him like he was a wild animal on the wrong side of the cage. "There is someone… something, following you…"

Caleb looked at her for two heartbeats and broke into a sardonic laugh before adding an innocent. "You don't say?"

Sophie's eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't believe me? Read me- or whatever the hell it is you do! I'm serious damn it – it hangs round you like a fucking noose … when we were talking earlier, it was – well becoming more solid …less hazy looking … Caleb are you alright, you look ill?"

With a start Reaves found that his hand was firmly wrapped round his midsection trying to quell the acidic churning of his stomach. Could this rank amateur medium, really see what he had secretly begun to fear. The taste of bile was thick in his mouth. If she saw Seaver – it would confirm his worst fucking nightmare… it was his time. He was going down the same dark road that had led his Father to butcher his Mother. Air became harder to take in; he tightened his grip around himself, as if that could ward off what she seemed desperate to share with him.

He watched her step forward into his space laying the other hand on his shoulder with a panicked look on her face. He couldn't make out what she was saying the sound of his harsh breathing and his heart hammering against his ribcage was pounding out all other noise. His mind was alight, and running scared from what she had to tell him.

"Whoa, whoa there… breathe damn it …." Sophie's tone was frantic as she slammed the taller youth on the back. Silently she chided herself in frustration.

_He hasn't swallowed a bloody M 'n' M – Sophie!!!! Oh God, Oh God – Oh GOD – please breathe – DAMN YOU!!!_

Out loud she shrieked "Caleb!"

The piercing cry did two things. Firstly it served to break into whatever zone his mind had slipped into, and he slouched forward with a gasp his head barely touching her shoulder. He pulled air in by the lungful, panting and breathing heavily. Secondly it caused her brother to rush up the last few steps to the roof where he had been making his way to see her, spurred on by the alarm in her voice.

As Seb burst onto the roof he took in the scene before him. Reaves was all over his sister who looked scared out of her wits. Hard case or not – Reaves needed to be shown that there was a penalty to be suffered for tangling with the Craigs – besides he still owed the asshole for their last encounter.

"Lucas – go pry that leech off my sister and bring him here so we can dissect him." Seb commanded as his entourage began to join him on the roof.

To his utter amazement Sophie appeared to help Reaves into a more upright position and put herself between him and the advancing Lucas. It was a subtle move, but Sebastian saw it for what it was. He clicked his teeth together sharply, but made no other move waiting to see if his sister had in fact lost her waning senses. Every since Reaves' suspension she had danced very close to the line, when it came to questionable behavior. He had thrown their Father off the scent a couple of times now – once when she was stupid enough to get toasted before one of his work functions. Originally he'd thought to use it as a bargaining chip in the longstanding private war that he and his sibling had wagged amongst themselves for years, but now with this latest infraction; Seb was beginning to suspect a more serious dilemma. They were Craigs; they did **not** fraternize with Freaks!

"Call off your pit-bull Seb, just a tad overkill don't you think?" Sophie slung at him, drawing herself up to her most imperious.

"Well if you will insist on playing the role of drama queen – but did you have to pick the fairytale involving the amphibian romance?" Sebastian arched back.

Reaves remained strangely docile throughout the exchange, he looked straight at Sebastian with what could only be described as a checked out gaze. For his part Seb found the mute act a little unnerving, he had an inkling, of what Reaves was truly capable of, and you never knew what was ticking away in that head of his.

Tuning out the family drama in front of him, Caleb fought to centre himself. He had to know what Sophie had seen and if it meant taking a peaking without permission, he was willing to take the consequences. He had to know, he was done playing blind, and he was done being the whipping boy. Time to man up – if the worst was happening and the Seaver curse was straight ahead? Then Caleb would do what needed to be done. He half expected a cackle from the young dead stowaway in his head. But nothing came.

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Cecile enjoyed the over terrain route back to the Necromancer who had resurrected her spirit.

Necromancer.

It was a term that she had picked up scanning through the archives at the stronghold she had first found the Reaves boy at. She had sensed the dark nature of her re-entry to the living world, the cold crawling feeling that had accompanied her, and then her less than friendly reception from Le Harve's demonic beasts. The woman herself had been welcoming, pleasant even – she obviously never needed to dirty her hands, but if she was seeking to pull the damned spirit of the Pastor across the void- she was taking on more than she was prepared for. Of this Cecile was certain. But more than that certainty was the fact that she would rather extinguish herself than assist LeHarve in reanimating that Monster.

Upon entering the barn that served as LeHarve's lodging, Cecile noted that the witch was deeply engaged in some dusty old tome. The guard dogs had been set loose it would appear

"Don't hover Cecile… didn't your Mother teach you that was rude?" the elder woman asked with the merest hint of a smile gracing her lips.

Putting down her reading she engaged the spirit fully with her eyes. Cecile knew that she was being closely scrutinized.

"I did not request your presence here girl, nor is your task complete as I still feel your tie to Caleb Reaves…. So why are you here?"

Despite herself Cecile swallowed, she may have underestimated her ambiguous benefactor. There was more steel in that skirt than satin.

"Reaves is still alive, that is so, but he is not intact – I go wherever he goes, serving as a constant reminder of his families crimes, just as you told me to. Only…" Dupree wavered.

"You're wondering about the other presence you probably sense now inhabiting the same space as you?" Verity surmised in an overly neutral tone.

"Seaver's descendant is gaining the courage to do the right thing by the hour; to rid the world of his abominable bloodline … was that not your wish? Am I not fulfilling it?"

"Child, you should know that you are merely the tool with which I am erasing Caleb Reaves, and instruments heed the crafters instructions… they do not concern themselves with the end result, only their specific task. I thought we had learned our lesson the last time you saw fit to question me?" LeHarve spoke as if delivering a classroom lecture, but took great satisfaction at the pained look that crossed the little girl's features. "Your concerns – and yes I can guess them from the impressions I sense from you – are not my concern. You are ignorant of my skills, the same source that brought you here, and your feeble worries about the Good Pastor are as dust to me… much as you are dust without me."

"There is nothing "Good" about that man." Cecile grated unable to help herself and from behind her she heard a familiar snarl.

"Oh come now cherub, do we really have to repeat that lesson? I am giving you the chance to settle old scores – why do you care what extra fail-safe's I throw at Reaves to ensure the outcome I require? I am the enemy of your enemy after all … did they cover that one in bible class?"

Cecile stiffened but knew that on this ground, this close to Leave she stood no chance. She had her answer. Now she needed some space ….

"What is that rattling through your mind Cecile?" Verity demanded dangerously. "Is that really a challenge I see forming in you pretty little head?"

Cecile worked quickly her mind racing for her salvation even as she felt one of the demonic guard's essence directly behind her.

"I despise Seaver – whichever generation I may have the opportunity to put to rights, you know I will take it…. You also know I can never exist alongside the butcher who murdered my family. But I know that the second Reaves is dead I will cease to exist – I accept this, to bring down that cursed name – I embrace this fate."

Le Harve looked genuinely bored now. "How noble… and utterly tedious! I believe you have a task to return to?"

Cecile nodded, forcing her mind to stillness and binding her thoughts firmly, she left.

Only when she was a considerable distance from the Necromancer did she dare to even begin to ponder her alternative course of action. She would put an end to Seaver, but not LeHarves way. Her mind wandered through the souls she had encountered through Caleb's eyes and settled on the one she thought most likely to be of use.

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He was so far off his game today; he should have exited the minute Craig senior showed up. Knowing this was cold comfort after the fact. How had things gone down hill so fast? One minute he was trying to get a read on the "noose" Sophie had seen and the next he was agreeing to some pissing contest laid out by short, blonde and petulant! He always knew the sweater set were a lethal combination of rich and bored. He'd found that out a little late just before he took the suspension. Because to explain himself would have involved selling out Sophie. If it had been just about the academic slap on the wrist; it could not have bothered him less. He owed her and her brother less than nothing, but at that point he had sensed what she had been hiding. She was terrified of her family finding out what she was capable of. There was just no way he could let her take that fall. In doing the right thing, however he had ended up tipping off Seb to his own unique talents, and now he was caught in the Craig's twisted cat and mouse sibling rivalry. Seb knew what he could do, and not just Seal training tricks. He had maneuvered the conversation in such a way that he had Caleb agreeing to a more "hands on wager" being that he could "think" of a million reasons why simply betting as the rest of them were, just wouldn't be sporting – seeing how he and Seb "thought so much alike" on these matters it was "uncanny".

"Stop it Seb, why the hell would Reaves get in the ring with one of those street rats?" Sophie demanded causing Caleb to grimace slightly.

"Oh I don't know Sis – he seems like a man with something to prove … especially to you?" Seb purred stroking Catherine's beaming face like she was already wearing his collar.

"Fuck off Sebastian – he's not…. my type." Sophie began to rage but slowed as she caught Caleb's incredulous look and swallowed hard.

"You don't exactly toast my crumpets either sweetheart." He growled haughtily in a low voice.

"Shut up" she urged quietly through barely moving lips masked by the roar of laughter Caleb's knee jerk comment raised.

Everyone continued to laugh but Seb; he was glaring at the two of them like he had just found a cockroach in his burger.

_I know you hear me freak… I can see it on your face – I don't need to know what my whore of a Sister rewarded you with to motivate you to tell that pack of shit you laid down for the Principal, but weather she remembers it or not she is a Craig – and you're a castoff. Play along here or I let all the cats out … what do you think Sophie would make of your Shinning? And I'm pretty sure for every ten people who laugh it off; there will be that one devout good ole boy that will want to gut your black magic practicing ass… or at least they will when I'm done. You thought High school was tough when you were just the outsider; just wait till I paint a bulls eye on your hide. Take the bet, be there tonight – 9pm sharp… and take a trip in the third_ _round. Am I making myself clear?_

Reaves threw Sebastian Craig a stony stare and a barely there nod. He was not too bothered by the prospect of going bare knuckles with a street heavy; he'd faced off against worse before. He was not even fazed by the thought of taking a smack down in front of Seb and his cohorts. But he was worried about the conclusions the high bred jackass was jumping to, and the repercussions for Sophie and himself. If Seb thought he had something over Caleb, how else would he plan on using this to his advantage? And what would Sophie be put through if that cowardly snot every decided that she actually liked him? Or worse helped him?

Physically distancing himself from Sophie, he started to run the timeline for this evening through his head. It would be a thirty minute subway trip to the part of town the nightly street match was to be held at. The location always changed to throw off the cops, but it was usually in neighborhoods where taxi cabs never picked up. He'd have to plan in time afterwards to kick Seb's ass – more convincingly this time – and ensure that he behaved like a good boy till the end of term at least. But what the hell was he going to do about Sophie? Glancing at his watch he cursed out loud. He'd meant to meet with Dean twenty minutes ago!

He walked towards the exit and one of Seb's goons actually made to stop him.

"Back off Jack, Caleb will be there … I have every faith, we're so in tune, it's like I can read his mind."

Seb's smile was begging to be knocked off his face and Caleb fought every angry impulse his brain was franticly sending out. Sophie looked stricken realizing too late that Seb was pulling the strings and fearing, wrongly, that she might be tethered to one of them. Reaves played his last card for this round.

Fixing the blonde girl with his coldest, most disinterested look, he grated. "Don't forget to bring Daddies money tonight Princess; I'm really going to enjoy taking it from you and your brother's highly manicured hands. Craig's that stay together – pay together…."

"Our armistice does not stretch that far Reaves – watch your mouth round her…. Didn't you have someplace else to be?"

Sophie sent her thanks silently to him. With a huff he turned on his heel. Fat lot of good that was going to do him if Deuce figured out he was catching rays on the roof with the "It" crowd rather than meeting him as planned.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N; Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this, you don't know how much that means. A BIG thank you to Lovin Jackson for her Beta Super - Powers!!! To be lucky enough to have the help, support and evil genius mind of someone like Tara, makes this story even more exciting to write!!! (Yes even when the plot bunnies have me running scared!) her imput goes way beyond just spelling and grammer checks - thanks for everything Wing-chick!

**Chapter Nine**

"_And I scream, I swear I'm not the devil – although you think I am. I swear I'm not the devil!" Stained "Devil"._

"Go screw yourself Damien I actually **am** a kid, you spoilt, sanctimonious bastard!" Dean threw a heated glare at his former best friend.

Caleb rolled his eyes.

_Oh this was going swimmingly_.

Dean had not only clocked that Caleb had been hanging out on the roof with the Craig's and their groupies. He had given his School shadow the slip and come after Reaves when he had seen Seb head for the rooftop with his muscle. The Psychic had literally run into the kid at the foot of the stairs and then had to work very hard to usher him way out into the back playing fields, in time for hurricane Winchester to hit.

"If you had seen what I'd seen - what looked like a lynch mob heading in the direction of your piss poor hiding spot, with its lack of quick exit… you'd have come in after me. Don't bother to deny it – now if I'd known you were hooking up for some choice bored millionaire action – I wouldn't have fucking bothered! So don't tell me I'm over reacting Damien!"

"You know I could have handled them Deuce, hell I'm pretty certain Sammy could have handled Seb!" Reaves rolled off a shit eating grin.

"Don't patronize me asshole, I'm not new… and this is not fucking Prom night! You said Street Fight Caleb …. And I know you weren't talking computer games. Are you finally broken?!!! What if you and the golden geese get busted? What would that do to Mac… are you even sure your all there Lucifer? Should I be Christoing yo…?"

Dean faltered as he saw the look of genuine pain cross Caleb's face.

"What is going on with you Caleb… you're scaring me man… hanging with these douches, ragging on Mack… it's not you. It's like your on auto-asshole and someone else's driving."

Something cold and hard moved in the depths of Caleb's heart. So this was the level of faith his so called family held in him? Dean was … afraid, afraid of him?! He'd bled more times than he could count for the little snot and his overwhelming response was to run scared?! From the moment he'd met the silent midget he'd marked him as a kindred spirit, and some obviously misguided part of his soul had sworn in the dark, in the depths to protect Deuce, no matter what that cost. Over the years he had come to believe that, amazingly, the kid had returned that loyalty … but today, he wasn't as convinced. And as for pitying Mack… Dean had always envied his relationship with Ames. Well when you compared John Winchester's below par parenting skills, who could blame the brat?

On the fringes of the unexplainable heat and rage his mind was registering right now, Caleb swore he heard the sound of laughter, and though it was faint it was substantial enough to cause him to react to his clenched fist and spiking adrenaline. He forced himself to take two steps away from the anxious looking child in front of him.

With a grim expression he fought his ragging emotions for control. The seething need to do some damage was almost too strong to deny, and he pushed himself further back from Dean. His voice was frigid to his own ears and lay like a blanket of snow between him and Deuce.

"Maybe to your eyes, I am a little broken – Dean, but just maybe I'm a little sick and tired of explaining myself to my ten year old tag along and his hand-me-down baggage?"

Dean's whole face drained of color. His bottom lip actually quivered and the barely held moisture in his eyes threatened his hard fought for defenses with every half breath he dared to take.

"Stay the fuck away from me and my brother Reaves." Was all he could manage, and the voice it was delivered in was hollowed out from the neck up and impotent from the neck down.

From somewhere deep beneath the surface Caleb howled out his frustration and venom at himself, as he watched the younger child walk away stiff backed. He stood melancholy and marble rolled into one statue that would gladly never move another inch for the rest of time.

He was broken – and only Dean could see that, that clearly and as always – Dean would reap the penalties. The rage that had him in its grip was from some untraceable source. He could feel it bleeding into him like an uncomfortable transfusion, going against the grain of who he was. What had just happened had been as much his will as dancing the frigging Ballet would have been. Clasping his head in his hands he fell to his knees.

"Get the hell out of my head! For the love of God – take what you need… just… just don't hurt my family!"

_Is that an invitation Caleb?_ An unfamiliar voice that was rasping and indistinguishable as male or female, queried.

"Who THE **HELL** is that … your not Cecile, are you?" Caleb demanded tears springing to his eyes as his very worst fears seemed to be coming to pass,

_No – not Cecile… not one so …weak… you know I can't stand weakness…_

A loud groan escaped Reaves' lips, as his head bowed lower, touching the ground, his hands shaking and pulling fiercely at his hair. "No – it can't be…."

_I thought you were done with pretenses boy? Your Fairytales haven't really worked out so far have they? I AM – your reality Caleb… I see you, in all your dark glory. And I know you feel me… I'm coming through loud and clear aren't I?_

The cloying sound in his head drew a gag from him and before he knew what was happening, Reaves found himself purging his system of his fear and self loathing. The convulsive gagging burned his stomach and throat and left him breathless. It drowned out all else except a desolate and lonely truth that he clung to not for his sake … but for theirs.

"You will not take me – alive." It was more a moan than a battle cry, but for now it would have to do.

* * *

Verity Le Harve sat back in the deep tapestry chair, which was totally out of place in the derelict barn. But as with most things in her life – she remodeled. If things did not work out to plan – she'd simply rewrite the script. Such had been the case with Reaves … he'd been a tough nut to crack, she'd give him that. Him and his wayward ancestor, it was easy to see how deeply the stubborn streak ran in that bloodline.

She had been mistaken to trust such a challenge to a fresh colt like Cecile. Though the girl had been effective at tenderizing the target, Verity had always planned on closing the deal with the Pastor. Playing Caleb's very worst fears against him, what she had not counted on was the impenetrable deadlock Seaver's spirit appeared to be in. But still – Caleb didn't know that. With the memories of the victim's like Cecile, she was able to piece together a pretty convincing facsimile of the demented Pastor. As she stirred her tea and let the herbs swirl languidly round the metal teaspoon, she wondered where the little pain in her neck was sulking off to at the moment, for she had not felt her presence in the boy.

Glancing upwards, she waved her hand dismissively. "No of course I don't want you to _fetch_ her – you can have your fun when the deed is done. Young master Reaves is still not down for the count yet, let her believe what she wants about Seaver … she is hardly a threat to us. We may have use for her yet."

Le Harve smiled twisting the million year old rock crystal at her throat.

"Almost end game. Griffin Porter will get the chink in the armor that Reaves' demise will cause and I will get a considerable addition to my arsenal … not to mention immunity from that dreadful Boys Club. Winners all round I'd say."

* * *

Who could have guessed that the Afterlife was as contradictory as Real life? Well – not that this travesty that animated her spirit with rage and an all consuming hateful fire was "Real Afterlife"; at least not in the Resurrection; Judgment Day sense. This was the black arts at work in the hands of a very powerful mercenary witch.

Cecile had taken to watching – like the shadow she was. Just observing was all she could do; because if she got any closer to Caleb Reaves than a few yards out, she almost lost herself to the irrational need to grind him under her insubstantial shoes.

She knew Le Harve was upping the anti – the witch had her own agenda, and it had nothing to do with the righteous justice the young spirit thought she had been brought back to deliver. Le Harve wanted to be rid of the Dark haired psychic currently sitting with his head bowed, hands resting on his knees not two arms lengths away from her. Verity had orchestrated an attack on the Reaves boy, one that was spearheaded by her – and apparently, one that held a contingency plan, in case Cecile had not been up to the task of finishing him. What a fool she had been. How easily she had let herself be used.

She had watched this devil with an Angel's instinct, most of the afternoon and into the evening. She'd been able to read his tortured thoughts as he kept his distance, at great personal pain to himself from his young friends … he believed – Deuce, would be safer away from him.

Reaves ensured the safety of the children by contacting his Father and arranging their return. True he had lied about wanting to go out with friends to "let out some steam", but in reality with every turn of the screw, the witch was applying, his falsehood was becoming truth. He took the punishment Le Havre's plan B was meeting out in his head in a stoic resigned fashion, almost as if he believed he deserved it.

By wrapping himself tightly in his own bleak thoughts and maintaining his distance from everyone, he sought to insulate them from what he feared he would bring upon them. Cecile knew that he still probably believed her to be his tormentor, and Le Harve's pull was still too strong for her to deny. If she tried to contact him directly, to spare him or warn him … Le Harve would have her trophy.

The more Cecile thought about the tentative plan that had been forming since she had gleaned the Witch's true intentions, the more she saw it as the only way to undo the situation. She had not lied – she could not if she had wanted to, Le Harve's hold was too tight; Cecile had every intention of putting the Seaver's to rights. In the form of Caleb that opportunity had arrived, just not the way she had expected. Thinking on how right Verity had been, Cecile threw Caleb's somber feature's one last glance before she set out to find the enemy of her enemy.

* * *

Glancing at the Tag Heuer watch Cullen had given him for his eighteenth, Caleb saw that it was a quarter to nine. He had chosen a secluded spot away from the milling crowd gathering in the nearby disused parking lot, in which to collect his thoughts. He wasn't entirely certain why he was choosing to continue with the stupid bet – except maybe … the fact that he had something to cling to as everything else fell apart. It was the way he dealt with the crippling fear that threatened to overrun him. The fear that stemmed from the fact that he appeared to be destined to be his Father's son.

He had always found solace in action… ever since **that** day by the sea, he had stayed so still, barely breathing as the fight ragged on outside that cupboard. And then, despite his hideout… evil had sought him out and trampled him underfoot. He could no longer stay still – he could not stand inaction… not because he thought it cowardly, but because if he stopped fighting, even for a moment, everyone would see that he was still that cowering little child, starring in shock from between the cupboard doors, as his world fell away.

"Hey there space cadet?" her voice registered along with her perfume.

Blinking upwards, he reached for her to steady himself. She laid her hand against his cheek trying to get him to focus.

"You shouldn't let your brother catch you near me Sophie… it would be worse than the Psychic stuff." He breathed softly, rising and moving to take off his jacket.

"I don't care what Seb thinks … you don't have to do this, not for me … this guy your up against, he's an animal, please just walk away. I can deal with my family, if they find out what I am …."

He gave her points for only letting her voice quiver marginally. "I can handle myself Sophie – once I'm done here, maybe I can convince Seb to …."

"Convince me to what?" the anger was barely contained in the low voice.

Sophie spun on her heel, Caleb merely sighed resignedly. This was _so_ not his day.

"Convince me to **what Sophie?** Accept your freak boyfriend? I mean - Jesus! Slum it if you must, but bringing it home with you? Or maybe you mean the ungodly manner in which you and that bastard seem to be connecting? Do you hold something in common Soph?" Seb's voice spat his challenge, daring her to pick up the gauntlet.

"Don't – do it" Caleb breathes into her ear urgently. "It's me he's angry with."

"Yes – Caleb and I both share aspects of the same gift Seb, yes your sister is a freak… and yes you can run and tell Daddy what the hell you want. But call off this farce- you don't need to punish Reaves." Sophie declared all but waving the banner with the bull's-eye on it.

"Oh I don't need to settle with the guy that humiliated me – that made my sister a filthy lying whore? I don't need to punish the slur he's brought to our family? What the hell has he done to you?!"

"Hey – Seb lay off her." Caleb growled putting himself between Sophie and her advancing brother.

Although Reaves' glowering form effectively headed off Sebastian's angry intentions towards his sister – it only seemed to incense the blonde man more.

"Fuck you Reaves – this is not your business; **that** is waiting for you back that way." He indicated the noisy crowd behind them. "Money being the great motivator it is will make this hard to walk away from. Bets are non-refundable in these places – you'd be very unpopular Reaves." Seb slung his sister a filthy look. "So would your slut."

Caleb reached out and backhanded the other man.

"I warned you about that!"

Stepping over the sprawling limbs of Sebastian Craig, Reaves took Sophie by the elbow.

"He's right about this crowd – too late to pull out. But I need to know, the thing you "see" near me… is he …evil?"

Sophie bit her lip. "I'm sorry – yes… it's the darkest thing I've ever seen. And I only get a vague picture … it's like it's got its claws into you and…"

The crowd roared drowning her out as they glimpsed Caleb approaching them. The master of ceremonies was a five foot two, heavy set man with a glass eye and a scar running the length of his cheek. He seemed to recognize Caleb and announced him as the "new meat" to the heckling bystanders.

Caleb gave Sophie a small shove, moving her away from him as he was somewhat manhandled into the centre of the ring the crowd had formed with their swelling numbers. He also tried to put the "vague picture" that she could see – out of his head.

Clearing his thoughts was an improbable thing, but refusing to at least try to attempt to ready himself for this fight, was just foolish. Well at least he wouldn't need to fake the fall anymore.

A second, louder, more approving roar from the mob had him looking up from removing one of his favorite T-shirts, and into the face of the bearded, slab of a man who stood a head and shoulders taller than him – and sixty pounds heavier. Well maybe he wouldn't need to fret over faking his loss… no, now he'd just have to look out for it – for real!

Trying to make the best of this, Caleb reached out a hand to Meat Slab, whose name he didn't catch but sounded alarmingly close to "Meat Slab". The other man obviously had no sporting inclinations – he would rather tell Caleb, in a resonating, guttural growl, exactly where he was going to stuff his head when he was through ripping it off his body. Reaves took this as the first indication that he may have braved the deep end a little too far upstream.

It was not the fighting he was worried about, he had taken a beating or two in his time, and frankly he felt after his behavior of late; the Universe owed him a little payback … no his concern was about how seriously the other guy seemed to be taking this. He had planned to work out some of that pent up hostility, clear his head and figure out his next move … from Meat Slab's first jaw cracking contact, Caleb became acutely aware that this was no nickel and dime bare-knuckle fighter. As his blood sprayed onto the gravel and he managed to catch a brief glimpse of Sebastian's viciously grinning face, he knew he had been royally screwed over.

Seb watched Reaves make what for some might be a valiant defense, kicking high and hard, even landing a volley of punches on the Serbian heavy weight national champion, an acquaintance of his Father's. With any luck this wouldn't just wipe the smart mouth off Reaves face; the cocky Son of a Bitch might actually lose his face altogether.

Seb flinched slightly as the far bigger man managed to get inside the teenagers defenses and deliver a vicious uppercut to his kidneys, with a sickening crunch. Vaguely he wondered if Caleb could last till the appointed round. Still what was fifty thousand, when it paid for entertainment like this?!

He grinned broadly as Reaves let out a shrill cry when his opponent pulled his arms back at an unforgiving angle and slammed his knee into the other man's lower back. Apparently his Serbian colleague had taken his prior instruction to "Fuck Reaves up" quite literally. He watched the teen attempt to block a series of bone braking jabs angled at his nose only to succumb to a merciless volley of hits that all connected with his ribs.

As the wind seemed to have left him, the younger man was half doubled over and then kindly helped up … hell he was flipped up, and over like a flap jack, by the other man's boot. Watching Reaves flat on his back covered in sweat and blood and gravel, Seb felt a warm glow of satisfaction – he hated being misunderstood… and **this** was the price of screwing with the Craig's!

Watching the stars from the flat of his back was a strangely peaceful contrast to the painful screams of most of his body. Caleb hazily registered a horn that had to be putting an end to the ass kicking he was enduring. In a blink Sophie was at his side gingerly helping him up alongside someone else; the ringing in his ears and his fuzzy vision would not allow him to put an identity to his other Samaritan. He heard Sophie's slightly clipped and raised voice respond to the stranger.

"No of course I had nothing to do with this set up – believe what you want … yes I, I think I may be able to stop it…. Wait with him?"

He felt Sophie leave and allowed his murky friend to haul him into a sitting position.

"You really need to get up son; they don't have medical experts at these things to call time." The older voice informed him. "That there is the Serbian Bear – and he is going to make good on his threat to rip your head off … what are you doing here, and how the hell did you piss off the Craig's?"

Caleb turned his head a little ignoring the ringing, and pulling focus with difficulty on the older guy with the helpful advice. He gave the other man a sarcastic grin that exposed his bloodied teeth and mouth.

"Hey – whose corner are you working? Mine or his?"

The old man laughed out loud, shaking his graying head.

"I like you kid, but I gotta be honest the only part of "the ring" you own right now, is the ropes! I suggest you use them, cause Master Craig… well he hates losing, and this guy has not lost a single fight in four years."

Caleb grimaced adding a hand to his side as the other man helped him to stand.

"Master Craig? That makes you…?"

"The butler, actually I'm retired …I was Sebastian and Sophie's … well I kinda filled in as their nanny back when their Mom passed and I can't seem to shake 'em I guess."

"Whoa dude … you just gave me a scary image of my future." Caleb shivered.

The horn sounded again and the Craig's butler gripped his shoulder and nodded.

"Hit the ropes son there is no shame in living to fulfill your dreams."

Caleb grunted and stepped forward steadily. "Huh – depends which dreams."

Sophie watched Caleb put up a more convincing show in the second round, driving the Bear back with a ferocious round of windmill kicks. Even as she watched the younger fighter step into a heavy roundhouse she knew that Reaves would go down fighting, but would inevitably go down. She flinched as he cried out following a boot to the chin coupled with a punch driven home with the downward force of the other man's bulk and some heavy gold rings. The Bear was a sore loser, if Caleb survived this in one piece – the leftovers would not be pretty. Sophie tapped her shoe impatiently waiting on the sharply dressed individual mulling over her offer.

"Come on Dixie." She ground out, trying to keep the pleading from her voice as she watched Caleb face off against the Siberian giant and come off worse. "You've never been one to pass up a sure thing."

The bleach blonde in the tight fitting Armani suit drummed his black painted manicured nails on the ornate wooden chair he lounged in.

"Sophie… hunny child… when you and your pansy assed sibling came to me for your kicks, did I turn you away and tell you that we don't trade in pennies?"

"Yes" she answered simply, frowning as Caleb spat blood following the Bear's latest assault on his kidneys.

"Uh-huh" Dixie watched the line of her gaze with a broad grin. "Well I meant it – what your brother laid down is chicken shit compared to what I got ridding on your friend the Big Bad Bear over there… thanks for the loan by the way. And what do I care if he messes up the pretty white meat … though I _do_ see what's got you hot and bothered Cherie… cause he is a fine drink of…"

"It's not like that Dixie… I can get more money …. My Father has many contacts, you could go legit…"

"Now why would the famous Damien Craig go sullying his hands with the likes of me and mine? And what makes you think he'd go for your proposal over his Golden boy Sebastian?"

"Cause the one thing that my Dad understands better than making money, is how to safeguard his precious family name – and as you'd say Dix… I pack the thunder."

Dixie took in the look of utter conviction on her face.

"Damn girlfriend … I think I've been a bad influence on you… But you screw with me Baby girl, and not even Daddy will be able to put **you** back together again."

Dixie's face became less menacing as he smiled sweetly at her.

"C'mon now, let's go save your Romeo while he still has some working parts?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N**;Thank you to everyone who has left the very kind reviews and are keeping an eye out for my erratic posting. Sorry for keeping you waiting so long- hope this chapter makes up for that. Enjoy.

**Chapter Ten**

"_Put me to sleep Evil Angel. Open your wings Evil Angel. Fly over me, Evil Angel. Why Can't I breathe Evil Angel?" Evil Angel – Breaking Benjamin. _

Making it back to the apartment that he and Mac shared in uptown New York was all that kept him going. He'd only managed to sidestep Sophie, the Butler and the threat of the hospital, by accepting their offer of a ride back home and throwing Mack's medical credential's around. Upon letting himself in to the apartment he made for the kitchen and the ice, he sensed who he'd find waiting before he hit the Kitchen door.

Mac's face was a familiar safe heaven for him. Although the slightly (in Caleb's opinion) uptight physician, betrayed his old money roots, by reining in his emotions and maintaining perfect etiquette and composure – his eyes always sold him out. Mackland's eyes were brown pools of deep expression that gave away whatever emotion currently possessed their owner. Caleb was the exact opposite; he gave his emotions free hand. Hell, he even armed them on occasion, with whatever was handy; beer, spirits … full contact blood sports! This evening had been one of those occasions, and Mac had apparently chosen this evening to wait up for him.

Caleb had brought this on himself. He should have waited until Mack was out of town before taking on an actual match. But something in him craved the simplicity of the fight – your mistake … you pay. He'd damn near lost very badly tonight, if Sophie hadn't had the match called – a very unpopular decision that had to be upheld by some suits heavies. He still had no clue how she had pulled off that little stunt, but from her exchange with Sebastian and then her Daddy on the way home in the Limo he knew he had misjudged her severely… there was no way Seb would go against whatever protection policy she blackmailed out of her Father. In his half dazed state in the back of the luxury car, he recalled laughing out loud at the way she held Daddy dearest to ransom. But right now, he craved was a hot bath, an ice pack and the good meds.

"Back late, Son?" Mac commented coolly, though his eyes pleaded with Caleb to come clean.

Reaves shifted his stance to favor his less battered left side.

_He knows. Or he thinks he does._

Caleb was grateful that his father's psychic abilities worked on a more physically limited wavelength than his own. He would have to avoid Mac's touch at all costs – he wasn't prepared to play "Bare your Soul" right now.

"Yeah wild party went a little awry … some people got a little handsy."

Throwing convention out, Mac's face took on the one mould Caleb had been attempting to avoid.

"Are you alright, son?" Mac asked in a voice laced with worry.

Caleb moved quickly evading his father with outstretched palms and a backward two-step. Mackland's hurt look and unsure, faltering hand caused Caleb to flinch. Hurting Mac was not the purpose of this exercise.

_Not something you have a good deal of say in – is it boy?_ The new Southern drawl that had taken up residence in Violet's apparent absence, crooned sarcastically from a dark corner of his mind.

This time Caleb's flinch was more pronounced and undisguised.

"I'm good!" he asserted a little more strongly than necessary, answering them both. "I need a bath and some rest, it all worked out, everyone walked away from it."

Caleb silently prayed that the burning sensation in his side was more bruise than break. The pain was a welcome distraction from the dreams though. Caleb was counting on being too exhausted to dream tonight. In fact he prayed he was too tired because he was honestly not sure how much more he could take.

As he wished his son goodnight Mackland Ames watched him make his way towards his part of the apartment with a frown. Something in the way Caleb carried himself was setting off alarm bells. He was hurt. Mac wanted nothing more than to call the boy back and to demand to know what was wrong but the fierce affirmation that everything was alright made him think he would not only be wasting his time, besides the ensuing argument would use up the little reserve of energy his boy seemed to have left. He hoped that Caleb would be more reasonable after some rest, because that was all the room the boy was going to be getting. Even if he had to get Jonathan to hold the teen down so he could read him – he was willing to take the fallout, because nothing was more important to him than his child's wellbeing. Not even his own happiness.

* * *

As he laid his head down with a grateful sigh, Caleb was over the moon at the thought of putting an end to the worst day he'd had in many years. He only had one contender for worst day of his life. Whenever a day sucked out loud, he would refer to it as the "runner-up" or the "serious contender". Today had been a **real** serious frigging contender! Of course the throbbing ribs, black eye, boot shaped bruise on his chin and burning lower back did nothing to help that.

His opponent had fought dirty from the beginning, trying to gain the upper hand by tenderizing Caleb's Kidneys. He hadn't expected Marquis of Queensbury rules on the street, but he hadn't expected a professional heavy weight National champ. Sophie had probably saved his ass back there.

The dark haired psychic gasped suddenly, letting out a strangled cry as he rolled onto the tenderest spot of his abused back. He jerked reflexively on to his side and curled up as far as the pain would allow him, in to the fetal position. Closing his eyes and sucking on a cut on his inner lip to keep himself quiet, Caleb did something he hardly ever did – he prayed. Caleb prayed hard for unconsciousness. And with a slam of his bedroom door and a darkened jade glare – his prayer was turned down.

Dean moved faster than Caleb gave him credit for as he crossed the space between them, he startled the older youth by suddenly appearing by his bed.

"Stalker much, Winchester?" he growled roughly, pain making his words unnecessarily sharp.

Dean ignored him and went to work, expertly examining for breaks starting at Caleb's neck and shoulders.

"Hey get the fuck off a… ahhh!" Reaves' protests were reigned in as Dean ghosted over the psychic's battered ribs.

"Hold still, asshole, or I'll start resetting bones right here," Dean returned distractedly.

Caleb snorted childishly. "They aren't even broken – some Doctor you'll be!"

Dean looked at Caleb squarely, anger blazing bright. "They aren't broken … yet, Reaves. Just wait till my Dad – or yours, figures out you took Street Fighter to the next level!"

The older boy pushed away from his former friend. He was not in the mood to take this shit from the kid. Unfortunately for Caleb, Dean was faster, not having just suffered a prison reprisal style beating. Caleb's cry as Dean tried to grasp his lower back, was full throated agony, and had him throwing a protective arm around his right side and panting through gritted teeth for breath.

Dean's anger had melted off his face like an Indian summer in December, and was replaced by a look of horrified concern.

"Caleb… are you alright … sorry man, I just thought you were winged, and playing it down for your Dad … I think it's bad, Damien, you need a …"

Caleb was sweating and shaking slightly. His lower back was on fire. He was inclined to agree with Deuce, but it would have to be silent, as he just could not contend with the pain that was making his eyes water and the disembodied voice in his head's incessant taunting.

_Gonna cry Caleb? Want a hug… gonna ball, Baby? Call Daddy Caleb – oh yeah…. He's too busy gutting Mommy, isn't he?"_

Caleb shook his head breathing harder.

"Stop it DAMN IT … Leave me the fuck alone!" he growled clenching his eyes tightly.

When he opened his eyes he saw the injured look on Dean's face.

_Caleb Thomas Seaver! _The voice chanted. _I do believe you just kicked the puppy! _

With a jump, that only heralded more pain, Caleb realized that Dean had just taken hold of his shoulders and was kneeling in front of him with unabashed panic on his face.

"I'm getting your Dad, Damien … just hang in there, man, okay? Just keep…"

"No!" Reaves' strong vehement objection gave him the strength to push up off the bed, ignoring the bite in his lower back. "I'm fine, Deuce. Don't get Dad's blood pressure up over nothing?"

"You're a piss poor liar, Junior."

A voice from the doorway had both boys jumping to, and almost coming to attention shoulder to shoulder. Caleb recovered first.

"John," he said by way of greeting and silent curse at his luck at being discovered by his eagle-eyed mentor.

"If you two want to skip the pitiful excuses and move directly to the truth – I'd sure appreciate the opportunity to get a good nights sleep."

Caleb cursed the fact that his stupid move had pulled Dean into John Winchester's firing range. Caleb decided to draw his fire.

"What is it with you Winchester's and not wanting to use the bathrooms in your own rooms?"

His flat joke fell exactly where he thought it would – on its face. He needed to re-think… to re-group.

"Boy, if you think you're…" John began his voice shot through with annoyance.

"Sorry Corporal." Caleb cut in with only a slight strain in his voice. "Got to take a leak."

Caleb's half shuffling movement to the ensuite bathroom had John frowning more deeply. He turned to Dean's anguished face – as if he needed further confirmation.

"Ace, go wake Mackland. Tell him to bring his bag of tricks."

Dean merely nodded before heading for the door. As he reached the darkened corridor, he was halted by the bathroom door slamming open hard as Caleb clung desperately to the handle with both hands; panting and sweating heavily.

"I think I'll take that hand now, Johnny … peeing blood … bets off."

John had started moving towards his obviously injured charge as soon as he appeared waxen faced and losing his fight to stand up. He reached him just as Caleb's body gave in and he started to tilt forward. John's hands grasped the kid with a surety and gentleness that was usually reserved for dire moments.

"Forget Mac, Dean, call 911!" John commanded, sending the younger boy running towards the nearest bookcase and Caleb's phone.

John took the kid's weight as he gently lowered him to the floor. Placing the psychic's head in his lap and stroked his dark hair briefly before moving to the pulse point at his neck.

"Tell me why I keep finding you on the floor these days, Junior?" he asked quietly, unsure who the joke was supposed to bolster.

Himself he guessed, because even from a cursory glance at this range, he could see Reaves had taken one hell of a beating. John counted Caleb as one of his own, and he wouldn't feel comfortable till he put the thing that had hurt one of his boys – in the ground.

Mackland appeared in the doorway, drawn by the commotion. Taking in his son's form on the floor, John's protective crouch over him and Dean's tense but clear rendering of Caleb's condition over the phone, he pushed away his paternal instincts to rush John Winchester and push him away to get to his boy. He opted instead for what Caleb needed most right now; Doctor Mackland Ames. He took a knee by his friend as he put an almost steady hand on his son's neck.

"What happened?" was all he could manage and he kept his gaze from John and firmly on Caleb.

Dean joined them and started speaking quickly.

"There was this street fight … bet…"he paused throwing a nervous glance at his father's darkening gaze.

But swallowing, he put the consequences out of mind as best he could, Damien needed him.

"Caleb was betting on Street fights?" Mac questioned with an incredulous tone.

"No … he was the bet – I think," Dean floundered. "From the look of his back, whoever he took on fought dirty."

Mackland kept his mind on the cold clinical path, because the road not taken led to the Abyss of "What the Hell?!" right now. Why would Caleb feel the need to seek out a street fight? Gingerly with John's unsought, but appreciated help, turned the boy on the ground onto his side.

The angry red, blue and black patchwork drew an unfamiliar two word response from Dr. Ames.

"Holy Shit!"

Quickly touching his son's face, exposed arms and bare chest under the uncharacteristic white T-shirt he'd chosen to sleep in, he mumbled.

"Cold." Turning to look at John he asked urgently. "What was he complaining of before he lost consciousness?"

The ex-Marine shook his head. "I heard him cry out – it woke me, when I got here he had come out of the head because there was…"

"Blood?" Mac asked flatly, showing no emotion.

"Are you reading me, Mac?" John asked.

Mackland ignored him. "Dean – how long did they say the EMT's would be?"

* * *

The room had **that** smell to it. Despite the tube gushing sweet air up his nose, the scent of ungodly cleanliness wormed through. Caleb began to switch back on, slowly, sluggishly, feeling numb and somewhat otherworldly …ah – the good meds! His eye cracked open and gradually focused on his Father's worry lined face.

"D-ad?" he heard himself croak as if he'd swallowed Kermit.

"Glad your back with us, son." Mackland smiled gently, leaving his hand on Reaves' upper bicep with no apologies.

Caleb smiled weakly, his lips pulling tightly. Mac's face remained worriedly creased though his eyes were awash with relief. He cleared his throat before continuing in a hoarse tone.

"Your Kidneys suffered some pretty serious bruising; thankfully surgery is not necessary… if you hadn't been discovered by young Dean…"

Ames couldn't finish the sentence: which usually indicated bad things, as his father was nothing if not concise.

"I owe Petit Poirot again?! Damn, that kid might as well stick me in a gilded lamp and demand to be called Master … I **don't do** harem pants for anyone though!" Caleb quipped, trying to pull the mood in the room from Defcon one.

The older man smiled obligingly, all his Eastern high society manners and his deep seated love for the boy in front of him, pulling him to indulge a little. But there were one or two unavoidable, unique pitfalls to parenting a strong willed psychic smart ass…

"I don't want to talk about it, Mac." Caleb replied to the unasked question, looking away and picking at the thread of his sheets.

"I thought we had agreed to the "wait until your invited" rule to reading people?" Mac asked kindly.

Caleb searched around with his hands for the bed controls, and with his father's help, increased the angle of the bed, so at least he could feel slightly less like a wrung out throw rug.

"I figured the formal invite was lost in the mail," He mumbled still avoiding the other man's gaze.

"Caleb," Ames began in a gentle but clear voice, "When we started our journey together, we made one very important promise to each other – do you recall?"

"Always put the lid back on the toothpaste?" the teen murmured examining the Pollyanna inspired pastoral painting on the wall closely.

Mac held on to the sigh that threatened to leak out. His instincts were jumping – something was very off here. Not only was Caleb being evasive and actually avoiding looking at him, he was way too subdued. Though Mac was giving the "Keep your mind to yourself" speech, the contact he had with the boy's arm and specifically the hospital gown he wore, was sufficient to get a read on him, except Reaves had all his defences up. This was no longer a world weary twelve year old, fired by distaste for authority and distrust of the world in general. This was a powerful Psychic near the peak oh his abilities and his mind was as inaccessible to Mac as if it were dead bolted behind a door of psychic Kevlar.

"May I speak then?"

No answer. Ames felt like he'd been transferred back to the Children's Psychiatric hospital in Brooklyn.

"Your insistence on going out and participating in the fights that your thrill seeking schoolmates only bet on, shows a desire for one-upmanship. But it's more than getting the better of a bad bunch whose approval you neither court nor care about – isn't it? I can only assume you sought out this violent pressure relief because you thought it a fair match, given your training and you felt the need to pay for something… how am I doing?"

Caleb threw him a filthy look. "I don't have self destructive tendencies."

Mac smiled. He knew Caleb would see through his layout.

"How would you describe it then, Caleb? Faulty self- preservation instincts?!"

Caleb rolled his eyes.

"Sarcasm is my failsafe, Dad, not yours."

Mac sighed sadly running his fingers over his brows. Caleb saw the tell for what it was. His adoptive father was pushing his limits, trying with all his professional skills to beat back his responses as a parent. But Caleb caught them all courtesy of the psychic up-link. Fear rode chief amongst Ames' emotions, followed by worry, concern, anger and guilt. The last caused Reaves the most curiosity; Mac blamed himself for the current situation.

"You're not to blame for my dumb ass moves, Mac," the boy grunted sourly.

Mackland Ames paled, and the younger psychic nearly flinched at the surge of anger that rolled his way from the other man.

"Caleb Thomas Reaves- what the hell did you suppose I would feel when my only son, my only duty worth noting, would rather let some knuckle dragging, backstreet caveman, beat him to a pulp, than talk to me about what has obviously been eating at him?! How did you expect me to react after seeing you unconscious, Caleb, or witnessing the bruise pattern that covers two thirds of your body?"

Caleb watched the man before him pace in an agitated manner. Words were not enough to convey the emotions he could no longer contain. Mac, who was usually so poised, calm and collected, looked like he desperately needed something to break.

Reaves closed his eyes, he almost thought he had slipped in to Freaky Friday moment.

"Stop… please?" he whispered unsteadily. "I'm … sorry, Dad."

The light touch on his shoulder caused him to look up.

"I'm not angry at you, son – I'm … scared that, I could have lost you … that you'd rather exorcise your emotions this way than by letting me get close … I'm feeling guilty about not noticing **something** … I'm sorry, Caleb."

Caleb closed off the moisture in his eyes locking arms tightly round is chest.

"Please Mac, stop – this is not you're… I don't …deserve…"

When he opened his eyes he knew they were overly bright, and though he could read the alarm emanating from the physician, his face gave away very little of it. Caleb's imminent meltdown was freaking his father out, but the relief that rode alongside his burning need to comfort his son, told Reaves that Mac anticipated this route as "normal".

"There is nothing within my power to give you, Caleb, that would not be yours at your slightest whim," Mackland started, his voice thick with emotion.

Caleb looked away abruptly from the Doctor, who was standing very close and had somehow covered his hand over his son's.

"I love you, son. There is nothing you can do or tell me that will ever change that."

The tears fell hot and heavy and Caleb groaned inwardly as he swatted savagely at the salt water running unchecked down his cheeks. His father's grip became firm gradually as Caleb allowed the emotion to flow – almost unchecked. "What if …" he began haltingly.

Mac braced himself, sealing off any emotions as best he could, not wanting his boy to interpret his own inner turmoil as disapproval or worse, rejection. He maintained contact with the young psychic and tried to will away the tremors that ran through his body. This was like the early years with Caleb, in the aftermath of the hellish nightmares that plagued him about his parents, his grandmother … his foster carers.

"Breathe, Caleb," Mac supplied softly, never letting go of his boy.

Caleb looked at him briefly, his arms still clamped round his sides, tears flowing and breath hitching unevenly, as if he were fighting with himself to stay or run like hell.

Mac laid a tender hand on the back of his son's neck and forced himself to breathe deeply, until Caleb's staggered breaths imitated his own.

"What if I told you Daniel Elkins was right?" Reaves asked hoarsely, (This changes from Caleb's POV to Mac's in the one sentence … might want to make it all Caleb since it was Caleb's dialogue and if you want to keep the Mac part? Maybe attach it to his dialogue below?)

The teenager held fast to Mac's eyes and squeezed his heart with the level of pain he saw in his boys face. "About what specifically?" Mac's tone was neutral but he was becoming weary.

Caleb had held fast to any loophole Mac had given him regarding the crackpot theories of Elkins concerning Caleb's heritage.

"About all of it Mac!" the teen exploded. "My fucking murdering son of a bitch great grandfather laying down for a demon and torching his own congregation. My fath… Isaac ending his own cursed line before it got overgrown … we all know bad blood will out don't we?!"

Caleb's shouts were getting more savage and as if to illustrate his last point, he pulled savagely at his cannular, sending a spray of blood over the lily white sheets.

"Caleb!"

Mackland's alarm brought a bristling nurse into the room.

Mac grabbed Caleb's injured hand and bellowed at the Nurse. "We're fine… please leave!"

The wispy woman set her face with a look of grim disbelief.

"I said **get out** woman – are you deaf?!" Mac hollered whilst working to stop the bleeding.

After settling matters he grabbed Caleb's chin, getting right in his space and forcing the young man to look at him.

"You are **not** your Grandfather, Caleb, do you hear me?"

The boy laughed bitterly. "I'm not only damaged goods Mac… I'm damned. I am a filthy demon half breed … you need to stay the fuck away before I do to you what…"

Mackland put his forehead gently against Caleb's, causing the boy to draw a shuddering breath and halt his tirade. He held his son's head tenderly and whispered.

"You are afraid you will harm me?"

Caleb exhaled in a barely there tone. "Not just you."

Ames knew he was breeching all Caleb's comfort barriers but he needed to interrupt the direction Caleb's anger was taking. Talking, communicating – no matter how forcefully your point was verbally made, was not an issue. Expression through harming was not a door Mac would leave open to Reaves. He had allowed indulgences in the past around the Anniversaries of his family's deaths – reluctantly giving over his son's care to John, as Caleb found more solace in action than words. But the punishment he'd taken in the fight earlier and his willingness to turn his rage on himself, were both new worrying trends and Mac needed to find out fast, what had pushed his child down this darker path.

Whatever response the Doctor had been preparing himself for, to the unexpectedly tender gesture of comfort. He didn't receive it. Caleb not only allowed the contact, but seemed to lean into it – pushing Ames' panic buttons.

"Not just me?" he prompted kindly, gently.

Caleb closed his eyes not able to meet his father's enquiring look.

"Deu… Deuce… everyone … I dreamed of … I saw myself through the eyes of…" his voice was torn, raw with emotion and choked with guilt.

"What you saw was … a vision?" Mac kept all judgment from his voice.

With his eyes closed Caleb began to recount his dreams. Once he started he could not stop, it was like the truth had hi-jacked his tongue, and after watching like a hawk, every word he said… it was pure relief.

"Caleb." Ames interrupted his rolling tale, pulling away slightly to look at him, but maintaining contact. "Who is Cecile – you said she warned you about what would happen… who is she?"

Reaves laughed a tear falling loose and tumbling unheeded down his cheek.

"She's a ghost, Dad," He answered matter of factly, marveling at the lengths his father would go to, to keep him from feeling like a Freak.

Right now Ames face was at war with itself – muscles in open rebellion against synapses, wrestling over which expression had right of way.

"I think I might be helpful, if you start at the beginning Caleb?" the older man asked evenly.

Mac's senses were telling him that this story would provide the reason behind that elusive feeling of unease he had had about his son since meeting him at Jim's farm. The mood swings, the uncharacteristic hostility towards his family, the withdrawn occasions that went entirely against the grain of the soul he had grown to know and love. Ames braced himself, gathering his wits because there was no way he was allowing some spirit to continue tormenting his child. Of course all indicators so far were telling the Scholar that this was no ordinary Spirit, but then Mackland Ames could only hope that the entity – whatever it was - would appreciate that the boy it had chosen to move against was not ordinary either. In fact in attempting to bring harm to Caleb Reaves, it had taken on the **wrong** family!!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N; **It has been WAY too long - thank you to Tara for sticking with this story and all the gentle nudging, when really sledge hammers tend to be more effective on my hard head! Thank you to Montez for asking so politely about where the rest of this story was - I felt bad about leaving this in the lurch, and actually put pen to paper that day. I do have a clearer idea where I'm headed now- it may take some weaving yet! Thanks for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think. Abi.

* * *

**Sympathy for the Devil Ch 11.**

"_Johnny did you ever know, / That time keeps marching on? / The coldest hour is the one / Comes just before the dawn." – Johnny Cash, 'Devil went down to Georgia'._

Mac entered his study, leaned heavily on his desk and glared at the lit fireplace. Abstractly he wondered why his new housekeeper would need the concept of energy conservation explaining to her. Surely the fact that it was still July in New York and not Australia, had not missed her notice? Rubbing a hand over his face, he ceased his grouching. Mrs. Hennigan was not the problem here; he was the problem here.

"Did your superpowers advance Mac? Last time I checked you couldn't put out pointless fires with your laser vision?" John Winchester's voice held an attempt at humour.

Mack knew his friend was worried about him. It was John who had all but dragged Mackland away from the confrontation with the head nurse at the end of visiting hours. Ames had always found amicable ways round visiting hours, that woman was simply a harridan!

"You're not still obsessing over your girlfriend- no heat no fire…" the Knight drawled as he manually put out the fire, keeping his back to Ames, he sighed. "Ah shit Mack, you know I fucking suck at all this easing the pain crap! It's always your area. What did the kid say?"

The scholar felt a smile creep round his churning anxiety. That John would actually attempt to lighten the mood instead of following his usual Modus Operandi, bore testimony to their friendship.

"You got to give me something here Ames!" Winchester urged. "I'm not in the Young and the Gifted Psychic Club!"

"Sorry" the Doctor answered simply.

He felt drained. He'd seen his son in hospital whites far too much recently and every time he'd failed to protect him. He'd failed Caleb. Pulling himself together before John did it for him; he fleshed out the details of what Caleb had told him. The ghostly visitations, the mental tormenting, the visions and even the Sever connection. In the end he glanced up to meet his friend's eye, almost daring him to turn this on Caleb.

"Shit!" was all the other man managed.

They were both silent for a second. John living up to his role; broke the peace first.

"How badly compromised is he? Who is this other woman that he saw? Is the Brotherhood compromised, has Seaver got a doorway in to us?" the questions were fired with the same sharp rapport as a locked and loaded sub-machine gun.

"Fuck you Winchester- Caleb IS US!" Mackland shouted. "You are a piss poor excuse for a Father and you can tout your kids around like luggage- but this is MY son….he lives and breathes nothing but the bullshit playbook you sold him! What the hell are you insinuating…"

In two steps John covered the space between them and had Mac by the collar.

"I don't give a flying fuck weather you think I am Father of the year or not- but this is the only way I know to help him. I WILL NOT loose another member of my Family! Not Him! Not like this! So stow the Whiney Bastard, blame game – and get the fuck on board before this little bitch takes Caleb down."

"It's the way he simplifies all his battle plans that has me hooked on his leadership style." A southern voice crooned from the doorway.

Both men looked up and upon seeing Pastor Jim flanked by Bobby; released each other hurriedly.

"James, you heard?" Ames stated in a flat voice, more an accusation than a question.

The clergyman crossed the room to place himself between the Scholar and the Knight and gently laid a hand on each of Mack's shoulders.

"We all love him as if he were our own Mackland, but Jonathan's right in order to help him we must fortify our own position. And believe me when I say Caleb stands at the very heart of the Brotherhoods interest."

Mackland merely nodded, knowing that the choking sensation that accompanied the burning in his eyes would not make for a manly response right now.

Jim patted his friend and turned towards Bobby.

"We need every lead we can get on this player Bobby. Who she is first and then the whys and the wherefores. We have to identify the nature of the threat she poses to Caleb. Sound out all your sources… that includes the ones you would rather I didn't know about."

The baseball cap may have dropped a little lower shading the eyes at the last comment, but the Solider in truckers clothing snapped too and set off on his errand.

The Guardian's face softened, military command giving way to his genuine concern as he faced Mackland once more.

"How is Caleb, Mackland? John filled me in on the circumstances of his injuries. I know you well enough to know that you would rather be with him than here and frankly, I want someone with him, in case our concealed foe decides to play her hand."

Ames began to try to explain about the Hellhound passing herself off as Medical staff, but Jim smiled affectionately at him.

"Hellhound?" the Cleric's mouth quirked. "I wonder if young Caleb hasn't irrevocably altered you in ways we have not even begun to imagine Mackland. Don't worry, I called ahead and all should be in order for you to join your boy now."

Mack was fairly certain his mouth looked like it had some feathered hook protruding from it.

"But how did you manage… she was a ghastly…" he fumbled even as he grabbed his coat.

John smiled grimly "It pays to be the Guardian."

Looking to the Pastor he added. "I will go with Ames; I want to secure the area with some warding spells. Bobby will stay here with you and the boys, till you give me something to chase when I come back." In a certain tone of someone whose word was law.

"It would appear it only pays to be the Guardian, when the Knight lets you have some fun." Jim quipped.

/

The amazing change in the attitude and unsurprisingly the location, of the now very red faced Senior Nurse at Saint Luke's was bordering on miraculous. She had welcomed him back and then removed herself from the vicinity. Though Mackland thanked the woman as graciously as he could, which mostly involved not grinding his teeth in her face, he was more interested in getting to his Son's side.

He entered Caleb's room and threw his coat on the cot that had been prepared for him in the far corner. Lifting the chart at the end of the bed he scanned it quickly. No further complications and Caleb was responding well to treatment, prognosis was good. Sighing with relief he jumped slightly at the timid knock at the door. Frowning he stepped beside his sleeping son and laid his hand on the concealed holstered gun. Jonathan was off ghost proofing the area and working his way backward to Caleb's room, Ames had not needed prompting to smuggle the weapon in this time. When it came to Caleb's safety protocol could take a flying jump off a very short pier. Hospital staff would knock to announce their entrance to the room, there would be no pause, and Jonathan would not knock at all. Ames' hand contacted the cold steel whilst his body manoeuvred to stand between the door and Caleb.

The silence was unnerving. Had he really heard a knock or was his taxed imagination playing tricks on him? The sound of tapping came more confidently this time accompanied by three things; a flickering of lights, a sharp dip in temperature and a childlike voice calling simply

"_Dr Ames_?"

In one motion he drew his gun and went for his phone to summon John. Caleb murmured in his sleep and Mack glanced down at the boys sleeping form. It was at this precise point that the Doctor felt the phone lurch from his hand and fly across the room to land safely on the visitor's bed.

_I mean you and your boy no harm. Please listen, there isn't much time_!

As a man of Science living behind the curtain of the Supernatural world, he had, had to dispel a lot of his beloved scientific laws, but it comforted him that this world too had some boundaries.

"I see you know my name, Cecile. But as you can see I know yours too- now show yourself before my friend returns and makes this ugly!" Mack grated menacingly.

_I cannot be compelled in that way Doctor, someone else holds my leash; but for the sake of goodwill I will show myself._

The Scholar couldn't help taking the safety off in reaction to the sudden appearance of the young female on the other side of his son's bed.

"Get the hell away from him." Ames ground out, levelling the gun at her.

Tilting her head to the side she watched him dispassionately_. _

"_I had hoped you were the reasonable one. I don't have time to waste, she is distracted with her end game now and that abomination she has raised takes more energy than she thought, but she will notice my proximity to the boy soon enough."_

The older man blinked at the chiding note in the ten year olds voice that seemed so much older than she appeared.

"Why should I trust you – the hell you have put my boy through warrants…."

"_Don't presume to know what hell is Doctor – that level of arrogance invites the Devil's attention- and he already has his eye on your charge. Ignore me at the boy's expense – I am Cecile Dupree, I was slain at the hand of Noah Seaver and raised by a very powerful witch. I cannot name her but she is a descendent of the bone conjurer of the Old Testament. She seeks not merely your boy's life but will also gain his soul. She wields Souls like weapons – we are bound to her."_

The girl stalled and wavered looking shocked for a moment before setting her mouth in a determined grim line.

"_She knows – she knows. Never mind- I was mistaken, I thought my actions would end an evil. Your Son… I was used, I was wrong. But there is another, one she seeks to harness, the cursed Preacher but he is stronger than her will… ughhh too late too late. She is coming here- she lacks the power to compel this new devil over great distance- she is about to try to complete her mission, and in order to do that she will harvest your son. Her power is … amulet … blood magic…"_

The young face contorted and swelled and warped until Cecile's burnt visage flickered intermittently with her pretty features before the fire that took her life. Mack watched in horror as she seemed to catch alight in front of his eyes and burn away to nothingness.

Caleb's murmuring became more coherent and he laid a comforting hand on the boy's cheek even as he called John.

"Yeah?" the gruff voice answered in a distracted way.

"I think she got under the net you are drawing Jonathan. I was just visited by – the spirit that Caleb described."

"What? Are you Ok- is Caleb…"

Mack could hear the sound of his friend running as he spoke.

"We are fine. But she came bearing a warning Jonathan, our enemy is targeting Caleb, and she is coming to town. He is not safe here; we need to get him to higher ground."

John snorted "You're going to have to pull an AMA manoeuvre Doc- give Junior an early birthday present by springing him from this joint. Is he up to it?"

"He is stable; by some divine intervention he has avoided permanent damage. He is still weak and will need close attention, but the cons are outweighed by the threat to his life." Ames reasoned as logically as he was able to.

"Good enough for me. I'll be there in two minutes, stay where you are, I'll get the papers to you."

The line went dead and Mackland wondered if John really thought that there was a hint of a chance that he was going to leave his boy alone.

/ /

There were certain things you never expect to happen, and then there are things that should never happen to you! Being outsmarted by a traitorous ten year old wench qualified as category B for Verity.

"What has that little half wit done- she may have ruined it all if she was spotted by anyone other than the boy!" she growled at her reflection in the cramped airplane washroom.

Glancing just above the top of her head she listened to the attempts of her familiars to pacify her anger. They had been shocked by her swift move to sever the little wretch's existence. She could feel their disapproval and the uncertainty that it bred in their thoughts. Exactly what she needed – Ms Dupree may have been a sanctimonious pain in her side, and Verity had decided to discard her pointless overly pious soul a long time ago, but in this way her destruction served as a reminder to the others, that they were all means to an end. And with the epic battle for the reins of Noah Seaver's soul it was a timely show of force. In the face of the resistance the possessed Cleric put up, murmurs had begun to surface amongst her group. And that was not a rumble of dissent she could afford to ignore. She needed their utter obedience to bend their will. It hadn't been such a struggle in her Mother's or Grandmother's day. This thinning of the power was something she kept from them too. These were not kittens she had been left with, and one did not need to unnecessarily expose ones jugular.

"Of course we are going to finish this assignment – I am a Le Harve aren't I?" her indignation ran cold against the heat of her assertion.

"_Pride cometh_ _before the_ _fall, have you _read that passage?" a gravel like Southern accent cut through the chattering voices.

Involuntarily Verity put a hand to her temple. He was too loud, almost too expansive a spirit to contain. His form was still a greyed out silhouette. That he had the ability to hide himself at all bore testimony to how tenuous her hold on him was. She did not hold the reigns, though she had raised his spirit, he was merely allowing her to steer when their interests coincided. She wondered what his end game was; he would help her, but only as it fit his requirements.

"_Why would I not want to be re-united with young Caleb, Miss Le Harve? We are kin after all._" Seaver asked innocently.

"I allow you to contact your – kinsman, but I need to know that you understand who is in charge here. Your task is specific, you cannot harm him directly, and he must step willingly into his own oblivion…"

"_Fret not bone conjurer, I am well aware of the circumstances under which my Grandson and I must be re-united. And I am under no illusions on any front. But that feeble little chattel, Cecile has ever had a deceitful nature. She also had ample opportunity to scupper your plans with_ _her snivelling incompetence. You must send me ahead – to limit any damage. I will go to the boy; you will_ _us join in time_ _to witness_ _his crossing_ …"

"No Seaver! I **must** get there to facilitate his crossing, the ceremony depends heavily on timing. If you break him too early he is lost to both of us." Verity began hotly.

There was a timid knock on the door and one of the gum chewing goldfish that passed as flight attendants cleared her throat in a shaky manner.

"Um Ma'm. Are you ok in there? May I help you at all?"

Verity swore to herself before throwing some platitude at the little squib to get rid of her.

She would have to straighten this out. The real world threats on planes could become a major inconvenience to her plans if they judged her behaviour to be too outlandish. Most things were a threat to National Security these days. Now she'd have to concede to Seaver's demand. Le Harve would just have to hope that he did not lack restraint as Cecile had when it came to tampering with Reaves mind. Losing the thread she barely held, she maintained the merest wisp of a connection to Noah Seaver. It was not that she trusted him- but what option did she have? She could not fail; she had her family name to live up to.

/

The journey back to the apartment had been awkward and aggravating. There was something more than just his latest misadventure. It had Mack balled up into a tight bundle of nerves. Some threat that lingered just out of detection, he even suspected that the vagueness of the read he was getting was his adoptive Father's doing. His first major clue came when he had come to in time to see Mack signing the Against Medical Advice papers to set him free from Saint Luke's. But more than that there was something fogging the air so that he couldn't quite get a read, maybe something had happened whilst he had been napping and he had missed it. He was being stonewalled by his Father and fed the 'Need to Know' diet by John, and it all just served to widen the gap between him and his family.

Caleb felt alienated, alone, exposed- he had told Mack all about his contact with Cecile and the nightmares about Seaver, and now it was like the lines of communication had been retracted. Had his head spun round whilst he had been out? Maybe he had projectile vomited pea soup in his sleep and the Brotherhood felt the need to quarantine this dangerous mongrel? His head formed the thought in jest, his heart clenched for fear that there was some truth to it. Had he crossed an unforgiveable line? Now that there was a tangible, albeit otherworldly, testimony to his link with Seaver, was he finally being met with Brotherhood justice?

He was scared. As a shiver shook his entire body and Mack glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, something unreadable passed in his eyes. There was a time when Caleb knew ever expression his stepfather had- now it was like he was a stranger. Caleb was scared – but not of the thought of what they would or could do … he was afraid this reckoning was long overdue. He was petrified that he was too much of a coward to take the consequences that were rightfully his by birthright... without putting up a fight. .


	13. Chapter 13

A/N; It has been so long since I have updated this, that all my reasons have morphed into one BIG excuse- all I got is a very poor sorry to anyone waiting on this story. Special shout out to Montez who has this fabulous polite way of tapping the clock - LOL- but she did contribute to motivating me to spill words onto the screen, and for that I am very greatful. An even bigger thank you goes to Lovinjackson for her amazing Beta skills- all mistakes are my blindness!- she really knows how to drop those hints and comments that get you moving on a story again and she is the most amazingly generous giver of her time - can't Thank you enough, I kow the circumstances under which you read through this, it really makes me appreciate you more Wingchick.

I have every intention of finishing this story, it may be slow, but it is in its last leg. (NOT a very good sales pitch is it?) Thank you to any of you still following this, and as every all pointers or suggestionsare greatfully recieved. Abi.

* * *

**Sympathy For The Devil; Ch 12 **

Dean carefully poured two glasses of milk in the spacious cavern that was the Ames kitchen. It sometimes occurred to him exactly how loaded Mac and Damien truly were. His best friends bad taste jokes about the Ames fortune merely supplementing his natural attributes, didn't come close to grazing the truth of it. The last two motel room suites Dean and his family had been holed up in, would both have comfortably fit in the kitchen dinning area. Yet one of the two figures seated at the table on the far side of the room, looked for all the world like he was trapped in a six by four cell.

It wasn't the irregular breathing that got to the teenager; after all Caleb had taken the Mother of all smack downs and had been taken out of hospital via the AMA route; it was the almost alien expression the other teen wore. The elder Winchester could only place it somewhere between jumpy and ticked off. The continually bouncing knee was distracting, but not as annoying as Reaves' most telling give-away; the cracking of his knuckles. Caleb was wound way too tight.

"And you thought warm milk would help with that?" the dark haired youth snorted.

Dean hid the stung expression as best he could whilst grating out, "Drink the cow juice dick head, or I'll go crush some of Mac's decent sleeping pills into it."

The third member of the Breakfast-Club parody watched with interest as he chugged his milk. Looking between the stony glares of his companions Sammy tried to figure out if this could somehow be smoothed out. He pieced together what he could see in front of him; Caleb looked like he did sometimes when he and Dad went out hunting. Dean acted like he usually did when Caleb was really hurt, cautiously watching the older teen when he thought no one was looking... so why was everyone so angry?

"What happened to your face Caleb?" Sam asked directly catching the older youths eye.

"Nice." Caleb groused.

"Hey..." Dean interjected almost immediately. "Sensitive much? You know he didn't mean it like that..."

Caleb locked eyes with his best friend, and Sammy watched as the two friends appeared to continue their confrontation on a different level- a silent combat of wills only they were aware of. Dean seemed to win as Reaves dropped his eyes first.

"I'm not the touchy one here Nursemaid Winchester – I was merely going to point out the charming trait Sammy seems to share with his Father for the direct route." Caleb explained in a terse voice. "We may not be on the same page right now, but do I really have to defend the way I talk to your brother to you?"

"You can't blame me Damien – you're acting like …." Dean stuttered not meeting his friends eye.

Caleb felt the burning head ache that seemed to taunt the barrage of pills he'd taken, go up several notches. So this was it? After all the mishaps and disagreements- this was the line Dean would not cross for their friendship? Funny he always knew it would be Sam. Dean was actually putting himself between Caleb and Sam- like he was protecting his baby brother. The venom rolled in Reaves veins again, and he clamped his jaw so hard his muscles ticked, he didn't want to give voice to the first line, expletive response to Dean's half hearted accusation. Instead he grasped the table with a white knuckled grip and fired single word descriptives like bullets, watching with a small amount of satisfaction as every one hit their mark, causing his one-time best friend to flinch.

" Like What? A... threat? Freak? Psycho?" Caleb spat.

" No – you _totally_ get the prize for Mr Stability, ass-hole! Don't you fucking get it? I'm not scared for us I'm scared for..." Dean's tirade was cut short as John walked into the room.

The knight regarded both boys with a quirked eyebrow. He'd heard the friction on his approach to the kitchen and knew from the tone that it was not in keeping with the usual banter between the boys. Hardly a surprise after recent events. John decided to proceed with the tried and tested method of plausible deniability, though it had never been so hard to feign neutrality, as it was when one of his family was so obviously suffering. Pulling out his best spit and polish attitude he continued briskly.

"Ace can you square Sammy away today? Bobby and I are going to take a field trip. Junior, you'll be part of the honour guard here, for the Guardian, along with your Dad and Perkins..."

"Perkins? Really?" Caleb questioned with obviously faked surprise.

Perkins was old school Brotherhood- he was what could be referred to as cast iron safe hands in John's book . Reaves had seen the middle aged man with even fewer social skills than his mentor, on many missions that involved Triad members or the Winchester boys. Johnny trusted fewer outsiders than a schizophrenic Stone Mason at _that_ time of month. If he had to go on a mission that warranted both he and Bobby; Perkins, was next in the chain of trust. They young psychic swallowed a lump in his throat as he realised that he'd just displaced himself in that line-up. Caleb felt so far out of kilter, that he could almost let the slight go- Perkins was John's insurance. This measure signalled the liability he had become louder than if Johnny had called him out publicly.

"You got a problem with Perkins Reaves?" John asked not missing the way the young man visibly winced whilst getting up from the table.

"Not at all Johnny." Caleb answered a little too sweetly.

"Good." John brushed off. "Pastor Jim would like to see you in the study."

"With the holy water ?" Caleb breathed quietly.

John chose to ignore the comment he half caught. He was used to brash Reaves, over confident smart mouth Reaves – and even the darker version of Caleb that sometimes showed up on his doorstep begging with his eyes alone to be given something to pummel. But this sullen, twitchy version, who seemed at odds with everyone he held dear... this incarnation was new, and entirely unwelcome. John desperately wanted to find the bitch who caused this and gank her in a thoroughly convincing way!

He let his protégée go first, something he wouldn't normally even think about, but the awkward way Caleb moved and held himself way too rigidly signalled alarm bells even in the Marines 'suck it up' psyche. The boy was beat to hell, but from his experience with Caleb when injured, the stark lack of banter about the hot nurses or even crowing over the fact that Mac had actually AMA'ed his ass out of a hospital; was glaringly missing. The limping form in front of him with the powerfully built shoulders and broad back was like a pod person. John couldn't help but let his over active tacticians mind wander to the large number of scenarios where bad things happened if they couldn't find a way to help Caleb. He'd trained Reaves, he knew, maybe better than the boy did, what his student was capable of. If there was the slimmest chance that Caleb could be turned and made to go dark-side then the Brotherhood was royally screwed, because he, as the knight, was its first line of defence, and he could not bring himself to take out the child he'd watched grow to manhood. It was part of the reason he was so relieved that Perkins was in the area … Winchester let the grim thought fade- who was he kidding? If _it_ had to be done … it would be no other hand than his. He owed Junior that, and he loved him enough to ensure it – even though he'd destroy himself and his extended family doing it.

Caleb ground his teeth in frustration. Damn John and his iron clad mental blocks! His unsubtle remark about Perkins presence had obviously tipped the knight off to the fact that he knew the real reason the other hunter was part of the 'Honour Guard'. When the knight no longer believed his private-in -training was trustworthy, or even sane, naturally he'd set up a gun he could count on. What was grating, was that Caleb couldn't get a read on what this meeting with Pastor Jim was in aid of? Had they already decided to neuter him – to take out the threat he represented? His stomach twisted painfully as he realised two things. Firstly "they" included Mac and secondly Johnny was likely to be the one to bring down the hammer. A sour acrid taste flooded his mouth and a shiver ran through him like a bucket of ice cubes. Was he being marched away from Deuce and Sammy without a scene? Was that why John had him walking ahead of him, so he could spot and neutralise the danger?

As they neared his Father's study Caleb picked up on the psychic impression of Mac first and Bobby and Jim slowly after him. A spike of panic ran through his mind as he feels how slack the link is between his foster Father and himself. Was Mac shielding himself?

What were the upper seats of the Brotherhood planning that required the Scholar pull on his Psychic Poker face? Voices filtered to him that did nothing to disperse his suspicions or the dread that had settled in his heart. Jim's voice was calm if a little strained.

"We will do what is necessary, Robert. Caleb is here with us – for a reason..."

"No offence, Pastor but calling Slick might not be a bad precaution to consider." Bobby offered in a good natured tone that made Caleb's fists itch.

Picking up his pace a little Reaves sensed John was caught off guard slightly as he stormed into the room, startling the occupants. He glared at Bobby but let his eyes settle squarely on Jim Murphy.

"You think I'm compromised?" the psychic spat. "Why don't you do something about it huh? Or is the half demonic pit-bull fine so long as he's on a fucking leash?"

In the next second John had planted himself firmly between Caleb and his prey and squared up to the six foot three psychic. It was then that Reaves realised that he had advanced on the Guardian. Winchester jabbed him squarely in the chest to break his attention, punctuating each word with his finger.

"Boy I'd settle for housebroken!" John growled "That's the Guardian your talking to!"

"Jonathan! Stand-down." Murphy commanded in a firm voice.

The knight took a few steps, but did not back away. This did not phase Jim Murphy as he kept eye contact with Caleb and stepped towards the agitated youth. Placing himself in Caleb's personal space he spoke clearly.

"No son – I don't believe you are compromised... I believe we are. Your Family Caleb, who have a job to do, a mission that they have given their lives over to and we would compromise all that for the boy we have watched grow up before us. My Knight let you get within striking distance of me, because he's too distracted by your discomfort to remember the knife I can see you have stowed in your shirt. My Scholar, who has several nasty containment spells at his disposal, which could disarm you, but would sooner turn them all on himself simultaneously than see you harmed. One of my best field Hunters, wants to call on Joshua Sawyers considerable wiccan skills to ensure that you have help on hand, before we go after the Witch who set your phantom visitor on you. All these men are consummate professionals – trained, skilled and deadly, but in the face of a threat to one of our own …" the Pastor left his point hanging.

Caleb shook his head in exasperation. "I never asked for that."

Jim smiled fondly at the gruff expression. "And you'll never again need to ask or question where our loyalties lie either, will you?"

Caleb dropped his gaze immediately as if he'd been burned. Murphy suspected the boy's emotions were getting the better of him and it was not something he was comfortable with airing even amongst his adopted family.

Switching easily to Guardian mode and allowing Caleb to keep his dignity intact Murphy carried on.

" Robert, you and Jonathan can update me on your sweep for our incoming target. Mackland, please appraise Caleb of the home guard detail, Perkins has his eye on the boys. Gentleman we face both Supernatural and human foes here, and their combined attack makes me more than a little uneasy. But we must neutralize the threat before we can investigate its origins."

"Bobby and I will stake out the airport – the spooks intel was on the money. It didn't take long too identify our biblical star... pity all that dark magic doesn't hide you so well from other witches. And its definitely a bonus that Bobby's standards are sooo low that he stoops to …." John began with an attempt to cut the grim atmosphere.

The comment earned him a crude response from the junk yard owner, but Reaves' attention was claimed by the sudden appearance of his Father at his side.

"I believe holding our discussions next door would be more profitable." Ames said simply gesturing to adjoining room that led to his private library.

Upon entering the well stocked library that adjoined the study Caleb claimed one of the straight backed easy chairs without a word. Mac had expected to be accosted with questions. Jim had revealed a few facts he would have preferred to explain to Caleb himself. There was no easy way to explain that you had been targeted by a Supernatural assassin. Once Bobby had identified the modern day descendant of the biblical Witch of Endor, her families trail of death and destruction was unmissable... if you knew what you were looking for. To the untrained eye, the series of high profile calamities and suicides seemed par for the course and were diverse enough targets to never form a traceable pattern for police. But they were not the police, and there was only one response the Brotherhood could give to such blatant breeches of their codes – Jim had already given the green light for John to take Verity Le Harve out. The crimes that she had committed in the name of profit were too heinous to do otherwise.

"So Supernatural hit-woman huh? There's a unique niche!" Caleb commented rubbing his eyes.

"You... read me?"

"Don't worry... I paid for it." the boy laughed darkly pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ames drew up the foot stool to sit opposite his son.

"All you need to do is ask, Caleb. We've always trusted each other before."

"Am I still in the circle of trust, Mac? Is that such a good idea when I have a paranormal target on my ass? Jim's right I am a liability..."

"You must be tired, because you seem to have misheard the point in Jim's explanation – you are family."

"I'm not worth taking this big a risk for Dad, and you know it! The Brotherhood is more important than the demon offspring of …. Noah Seaver. Who is this witch? What does she want with me?"

Deciding to level with his boy, Mac answered as directly as he could.

"While you were recovering in hospital, I met your unwanted ghostly guest, Cecile."

Reaves let out a whistle. "Did you smoke the stalker?"

"Well Miss Dupree has expired but not by our actions. In fact she expired trying to warn me about the Witch who conjured her, and deceived her into targeting you."

"So she had assassins remorse and couldn't pull the trigger? Because she seemed pretty convinced that the world would be a better place without me- in all our _'conversations' _. Who was she working for?"

"I know this may not be what you want to hear right now Caleb, but she was nearly as much a victim here as you, her conjurer was a powerful witch with a famous ancestry, called Verity Le Harve."

Ames knew both from the bleak look in the boys eyes and the wave of hostility that emanated from him that he'd hit a little too close to home.

Reaves was frozen. He blinked several times but did not feel his body carry out his minds commands. He tried to wave his hand to alert his Father that something was very wrong, but his limbs were stiff and numb. In his head a scream went up as something repulsive slid through his thoughts, a foreign but not unfamiliar presence slithered through him. Caleb threw his hands over his eyes. This was not happening! He couldn't move, couldn't act... and that sickly sweet other consciousness was winding its way round him, pressing nearer to him.

_You're strong son... but on a good day. And lets face it, been a while since you've seen one of those, right? Your defences are useless here, Caleb, all I need is a chink, and you've gifted me with a whole chasm... or maybe it just feels right to you?"_

"_**Get the hell away from me you sick bastard! I will not be like you! I. AM. N.O.T.H.I.N.G like you!"**_

The laughter that rang in his mind hurt on so many levels that Caleb curled himself into the tightest ball he could.

"_That's fine thanks for your deliverer! We are family Caleb, and I come to strengthen you to meet the challenge of the Witch. She is stronger than your delusional associates believe her to be, and with your abilities she stands to grow to a state of unrivalled power."_

"_**Your the delusional one if you think I'd join one of the bitches of Eastwick any sooner than I would join you. You can both go fuc..."**_

"_Your Father had prettier manners but not an inch of the bravery you hold. It is a shame that our introduction should be under these circumstances... but time is of an essence for me- and you. And yet you fight? Fine obstinate upstart... the consequences of what comes next is yours – you will beg me for my help. The witch knows where you and your pretence of a family are, she has alighted on this soil and her first line of attack is on its way … but I'm sure you and the two snot nosed brats will make a fine last stand …."_

Caleb let out a sharp breathas sensation came back to his body. Mac took a hold of his other shoulder as he felt a trickle of sweat run down his nose.

"She's here Mac- Le Harve has landed." Caleb growled in a voice pinched with pain.

"Son, are you... how do you...?"

Reaves' smile held no mirth as he tapped his head and muttered one word as if it were a curse.

"Seaver."

That one word may well have been hexed from Mac's reaction. In the next instant he was being hauled with equal parts of care and haste back through the room where the Knight had jut departed. The Scholar gave Jim the tactical update without breaking stride, whilst his Father gently held his arm as some of his injuries protested the speed.

Reaves took to breathing through his nose in an attempt to control the building pressure in his head, he missed whatever order Mac barked at Perkins to bring him to attention with his weapon unholstered and the canister of rock salt magically appearing in the hunter's left hand. As Caleb stumbled and let a growl escape him, he realised that Mac had somehow managed to slip an arm round his waist and shouldered the majority of his weight. It dawned on him sharply that he was losing the ability to operate under his own steam and he called out to Mac weakly in fear and panic. The last thing his fleeing senses registered was his Father's voice.

"I've got you son... Caleb? I've got you and the only way they are going to get to you is through me!"

It was as solid a promise as he had ever heard …. and it scared him to the depths of his soul. Because Mac meant every syllable – and he would... in all likelihood, be the instrument of his Father's destruction.


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N; **_actual Ice Ages have passed since I have updated this story. Sorry to anyone still following this piece, but I have finished and if my computer continues to be kind I will upload the last chapter ... as penance. :)

A huge Thank you goes to Lovin'Jackson who has helped and hauled me all the way through this. And of course to Ridley James for allowing us to play in her addictive Brotherhood Sandbox. Really hope it was worth the wait.

* * *

**Sympathy for the Devil CH 13.**

"_Can you hear me, are you listening, has your programme disappeared? I can see you, I am watching you, I've been planning this for years." – 'The Devil's Eye' – Chris Deburgh._

The arrivals lounge at JFK Airport was teeming, alive with the happy sentiments and joyful reunions of loved ones, and it almost caused John to break out in hives. Grown men weeping for joy, and kisses flying like un-pinned grenades everywhere, it was just too much of an incursion into chick flick town and it made the Knight genuinely uncomfortable. He tried to settle his mind on the walking dead bitch he'd come to end, and it kind of made him feel better. He chuckled darkly at just how messed up he actually was.

"See John, its reactions like that, that make people nervous to be around you." Bobby commented flatly whilst scanning the area for the third member of their group. "There's Slick now."

Coming towards them was a young, well manicured blonde man in his early twenties. John nodded at Joshua Sawyer.

"I have scanned the area and the EMF is off the chart, I presume you or the Knight want to take the high ground while I wade in the crowds, fishing for our prey's psychic signature?" Sawyer asked briskly, not bothering with niceties. He had long since learned that he was on the outside of the inner circle of the Brotherhood and that his alcoholic, ass of a Father was only part of the reason for this.

"Is that how they say hello in L.A young blood?" Bobby teased his eyes roving the crowd.

"I surmised that as Reaves is in imminent danger you'd dispense with the usual hugs and kisses in favour of neutralizing the threat." the young hunter replied in a businesslike tone whilst unbuttoning his crisp white Armani shirt, revealing an amber coloured pendant on a leather thong.

"What's with the Joan Rivers accessory Sawyer?" John asked without looking directly at the blonde man. The irony of them needing Joshua's help to save Caleb was not lost on him.

"It's for protection, our target is no Carney fake – I could feel her aura before I entered this building. The amulet will buy me some time to warn you of her position."

"What happens then?" Singer queried.

Joshua turned his gaze to John Winchester and tried his hardest not to falter. "Then – I find out if you two are as fast as you boast you are."

John broke into the first genuine smile he'd held all day. He knew Josh barely saw his Father any more, and the receding influence of that slimy bastard was obviously helping the boy grow the beginnings of a spine. As they quickly divided positions and sectors up, Bobby took the high ground – John volunteered to stay on Sawyers six. A decision that seemed to surprise the well groomed hunter, briefly. But Caleb was foremost in all their minds; and business was all they had time for right now.

Joshua walked the crowd vigilantly. It wasn't the ordinary five senses he was relying on. The amulet was on loan from his Grandmother and if he'd understood her crash course on its properties and uses, it was both shield and detector of energies uniquely associated with crafting. The Witch they were hunting was infinitely more powerful than any he'd had dealings with. He received that message loud and clear when Jocelyn had all but demanded to come with him! He'd talked fast to get around that. His salvation had been in the fact that Le Harve's power was a legacy- it was the only way the line could be so clearly and reliably traced through historical accounts; no variations in ability or skill set. Her power was not hers to wield but bequeathed to her as the heir to the Le Harve name. So John's simple plan of killing the Witch and hence "de-jucing her", was crude but probably accurate. He was under no delusion that it would not be a straight forward task, but he'd thrown a few tricks into his bag on his dash cross country in the Ames jet. It might give Winchester the moments he'd need to take the Witch out. It was a hasty made, ill thought out plan, driven by desperation – but crazy was the only game in town; as Reaves would say.

/

Caleb came to with a start. His first thought was to wonder why the hell he was on his back; his second was to wonder who was holding his hand. It was then he re-joined his own time-line and recalled his sudden, frightening shut down. Happily he could flex his fingers and that awful moment when the spirit or essence or whatever the hell it had been; of his Grandfather Noah Seaver had tried to throw him out of the driver's seat, had passed. He was about to haul himself up to a sitting position when he was assaulted by hell's own searchlight.

Reaves growled as he swatted his Father's ever present pocket penlight, none too gently, away. Mac let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. When his son had snapped back to consciousness but been utterly unresponsive for three minutes, Ames had been on the verge of commanding Dean to speed dial the hospital.

"Caleb?" the Doctor tried again watching the responses of his patient closely.

"Present – and wholly accounted for." the young man stated with a tired sigh.

After a few more basic response tests that the teenager suffered with a tight-lipped grimace, Ames helped his boy up to a sitting position. When Reaves made to haul himself to his feet the Dr objected.

"Where do you think you're going young man?"

"I think I am going to get off the floor and make it the two steps to my bed" Caleb griped stabbing in the direction of the inoffensive furniture with his thumb.

Mac took no notice of the tone as he carried on. "We'll take it slowly son; I am beginning to doubt my decision to..."

"Get off me!" Caleb snarled abruptly rising sharply away from Mac's stunned hands. "I bet these past few days have given you plenty to doubt right Mac?

Somewhere in his head Caleb recognised this response was loco. The unbridled hate and bitterness that rose in him overrode any semblance of sense, until he could almost taste it. The fear and panic morphed into anger. Anger at being targeted, anger at his real family- the cursed freaks he descended from; anger at his Adoptive Father's damned reasonable response to everything.

Mac's expression never changed, though his grip on Caleb's elbow was re-established more firmly.

"How many times do you want to have the same conversation Son? Your welfare comes before your approval of my methods …"

"I said move your fucking hands before I do Ames... don't you get it? Your henpecking won't work because your assuming there is something wrong with me... maybe it's just you that's screwed huh? Ever thought that the bastard son of a demon worshipper might turn out less like a musketeer and more like the Cardinal? Good on the outside, toasted on the inside?"

The dark haired psychic, turned away leaving his now stunned looking Father in his wake. His head felt hot, and though he was in control, something on the outside of his peripheral psychic vision was snarling at him. It was a noise that slowly dawned on him – Le Harve's pets from the pit! Their presence appeared to have a polarising effect on his emotions. They were like a magnifying glass, expanding his fear and the strain of holding his anxieties in check... his mental guards were not breeched as they had been by Seaver; they were submerged by the tidal wave of dark emotions those otherworldly creatures amplified and unleashed upon him. He had run out of time to remove those he loved from danger... He now needed to extract himself and draw those bastards with him.

"I think you've been through a lot son … stress presents itself in different ways..." Mac began to approach the teenager with the same demeanour a lion tamer would use with his cage mate, but over the Dr's shoulder Reaves spied reinforcements coming down the hall.

"Your right to call in the cell guards Mac." Reaves nodded approvingly, "I just told you I hear the voice of my dead Grandfather, a little self preservation would not go amiss on your part."

The Psychic kept backing towards the screen windows that lead to his bedroom balcony. He could just about scale the trim and make it to the top level of the building, and duck down the fire escape... he was pretty sure he could at least. What he could not afford to do right now was get pinned by Perkins. That was a showdown he was truly unsure of.

With his emotions off kilter he did not have full control of his abilities and did not want to risk any accidents. Controlling the wave of hostility that manifested itself as a tremor in his right hand, Caleb tried to breathe slowly through his frustration. He kept telling himself that "_these people" _were in fact his loving family and they were not "_trying to control him" _so much as trying to help him. Time was running out, he could now hear the otherworldly growls of the creatures in the room. They were all closing in on him. He eyed Perkins with suspicion, but directed one last attempt at his Father, with more than a note of pleading in his voice.

"You **have** to let me go Mac – they are here for me …. no one else needs to get hurt."

Mackland Ames prided himself on his skill at reading people even before he discovered his psychic abilities. His own son, however often proved the exception to the rule, and over time Mac had learned the hard lesson of restraint and patience, he allowed Caleb room to find his own way back. Today however, in a very short space of time, all the warning signs Caleb had been exhibiting were coming to a head with frightening speed. The steely resolve in his son's usually warm amber eyes was unnerving him. The boy's breathing was becoming erratic, the way patience did when they were under extreme stress. But apart from the arrival of Perkins in the room, summoned by their raised voices, Ames was at a loss to discern any other change that would account for his son's precarious perch at the brink of hysteria.

"Who are they son? Can you see something, a spirit maybe... one of Le Harve's...?"

"No!" the boy asserted vehemently, impatience and urgency making him short of breath, as he edged back further.

"No one is in danger Caleb, whoever – whatever they are, it only seems to be you they are affecting. Let's just sit dow..."

"God damn it! What the hell is it with you and sitting down? I **don't **need to sit down!"

"Settle down Reaves." Perkins ventured softly in a neutral tone, stepping steadily but firmly forward.

"Fuck you – why don't you take the fucking seat? Or better still do your job and get them out of here you blind son of a ..."

"Caleb! We are all here to help you and we are staying right here!" Mac injected, fanning out slightly, but closing the gap relentlessly between himself and the skittish teenager.

"You want to help Mac? Stop doing their job for them! Go now before... Don't give them any more ammunition, don't..."

Reaves knew his voice had a hysterical note to it, but he could do nothing about appearances now. As close as Mac was getting Le Harve's playmates were a hell of a lot closer, and their influence was devastating, ever nerve in him thrummed with the sheer need to do some damage, to light it all and watch it burn. He shook his head clearing that thought quickly. He was no puppet, he was in the driver's seat, and they would not use him against his family... against the brotherhood. Finding his back flush against the door, Reaves began formulating exit strategies. It was at this point that Dean and Pastor Jim entered the room, the clergyman holding Sammy protectively at his side. And the bottom fell out of Caleb's plans.

/

She was striking; Joshua had to give her that, with that mass of brown hair caught by two elegant combs and her soft white linen skirt billowing round each graceful step she took. Carrying herself with near courtly poise, Verity Le Harve appeared to know exactly where she was heading and though he was doing his best to keep up but keep far enough back, Sawyer had to wonder what lay at her final destination. The witch was moving with urgency and purpose, though not hastily, and the hunter sent up a prayer that this would lead her away from the crowded lobby they now passed through so the knight could neutralise this threat with minimal fall out.

In a burst of unnatural speed the willowy woman in front of him spun and grabbed his neck, instantly bruising his windpipe and forcing him back through the oblivious and unconcerned crowd. Her vice like grip matched the furious look she wore as she growled at him.

"Presumptions child, you and your subspecies family would actually try to draw me out with a cheap homespun bauble?" her eye cut to the amulet at his heaving chest.

Air was becoming an issue for the blonde hunter and he began to wonder if John was in mentor mode rather than protector – maybe he wanted a little pay back for Reaves after the hazing party Fisher had thrown him, and Joshua had been present at?

A figure large and looming slipped past the crowd on his right and followed them to the more secluded annex the witch had found.

"Get your filthy hands off him, or I'll drop you were you stand bitch!" Winchester barked levelling the sawn off at a point over Sayers right shoulder.

Joshua found himself spun deftly by his captor, and faced John with her hand still steadily crushing his windpipe. His vision began to haze and dark spots danced in front of his eyes.

"You boys actually thought you had a chance to – how do you say? Oh yes – gank me?" her velvet voice was thick with contempt. "I have come to claim my prize and we will be off. I'll give you gun toting fanatics one thing, you sure pick the pretty ones." her eyes sparkled teasingly as she drank in Joshua's muscular frame.

"Like hell, are you getting your hands on either of these boys." John stated flatly. "How you doing there Sawyer?"

The younger hunter could only gag his response and pray the Knight understood.

"Agm..ulitgh.." Sawyer gasped his eyes rolling slightly.

"You said a mouthful there son." John smiled menacingly even as his hand shot forward for Le Harve and his eyes traced the red mark that appeared on her forehead.

/

Tactically it had appeared a sound move. Caleb eyed the view from his balcony as he glanced back over his shoulder as another thud threatened the reinforced glass doors. Behind that barrier was his adoptive family; and that's exactly where they'd stay. He needed to keep them safe, despite their best efforts to make that basic mission of his life, impossible. He could just about hear Deuce screaming at him to unlock the door, whilst Mac and Perkins had taken to trying to smash the glass in with his computer chair. They would succeed eventually, but by drawing his pursuers with him onto the balcony, he was putting some distance between them and all those he held dear.

_**Is that what you believe? You really are as arrogant as your cursed ancestor! Noah did say he appreciated that about you. But truly your will means less than nothing to us, or our Mistress**_ –_** and soon it will be a thing of the past; like you...**_

Caleb let out a scream that he could not hold in; he grappled with the side of his head. In the apartment, Le Harve's entities had been a formidable force, he could sense them. The fact that he was in close proximity to the guardian and still felt the creature's insidious presence should have tipped him off about the extent of their power. Out here – away from the protective sigils of his Father's house; which apparently dampened their influence, the malicious entities were overpowering. Reaves folded in half trying to breathe through the pain of having them in his head- they had smashed his barriers, and the resulting headache could easily have been one of those evil bastards attempting to push his eyeballs out of his head from inside his skull! Closing his eyes tightly he felt a tear slip down his cheek, as the maddening pain drove him to move forward physically, as if he could out run it.

Mac's heart jumped as he watched his boy, entirely unable to help him.

"There is something here Perkins." Mac growled grabbing for Caleb's nearest cupboard and the object he knew his son stored there. "Whatever the hell it is, it's targeting Caleb, we need to reach him!"

Perkins didn't bother answering the Scholar; he could hear the self recrimination behind the obvious statement. Ames and he had thrown everything they could heft against the glass, with minimal success, a few slight fractures held promise but would they pay off fast enough? From the looks of the hunched figure stumbling blindly towards the balcony ledge, Reaves time was almost up. The veteran hunter had tried his hand gun the instant the teenager had slipped out the doors, locking them behind him by tampering with the catch from the inside. Pretty clever actually, he had all of John Winchesters resourcefulness. The bullet had ricocheted dangerously, leading to the expulsion of the Guardian- because there was no way they were going to take that risk, and Winchester's youngest. The older boy had all of his Daddy's pigheadedness in spades and had screamed at Perkins to go fuck himself when he had been told to leave. Under other circumstances he may have taken exception, right now, he was hoping that the youngling's shouts were not going unheeded by Reaves. He had witnessed over the years what Dean meant to him. In the midst of his musings Perkins saw Reaves lift his head with apparent difficulty and mouth one word directly at him. Looked like "Run"?

Caleb didn't know when his screams stopped, they blended so nicely with the sound of the aggressive New York traffic far below, and the laughter of the vile sons of bitches in his head.

"If you want to kill me – go ahead you cowardly fuckers! What are you waiting for?"

Reaves hoped the voice sounded more challenging than the whimper that he heard through the maelstrom in his ears. But from their genuinely disturbing mirthful laugh... he guessed not.

_**We are not here to end your existence, we are merely waiting to take you on to your next life... the first task is reserved for you. It's how the Mistress will truly be sure of your fidelity.**_

"My what? Are you Kid...?"

The pain that swept him then, took his breath away, and brought fresh tears from his eyes. He found himself praying for the Siberian Bear again, because he was sure that they wouldn't need to wait too long- this drawn out pain was his end. He could feel it; he didn't have much more left to fight them with.

_**Still you insult the Mistress by believing you have a choice? Impudent wretch; we are not asking you to join us – we are telling you that if you do not, we will start taking from you that which you still have the puny power to save... your so called family. Tell us – who is the most dispensable?**_

The psychic was horrified. He could feel as well as hear their meaning, it dripped with disinterested malice; theirs was a form of communication that was more a violation of the mind and spirit than any other Supernatural foe he had faced. And he groaned as he ran over Seaver's words in his head. He wasn't strong enough. They had him, but there was no way he was going to let them hurt anyone else on his part.

_**Little idiot! The question was not whether or not we would snuff out the existence of one of your weak group, merely who you considered least important – we see your answer despite your pathetic efforts at bravado... too late you've made the choice.**_

"Run!" Caleb howled. Forcing his head up – he had to warn...

Even as he met Perkins eyes, the dark haired hunter screamed out in horror as he saw the older man's head spin to the right snapping his neck. Turning away hurriedly Caleb somehow found himself across the warm stone of the balcony wall and peering at the small streaks of cars many miles below. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe – he had killed Perkins... he had, had a daughter and... and …. he was dead because Caleb had been too weak to man up... just like his Dad. The real one... who had waited too long and had taken out his wife and unborn child in the process. Caleb knew now – knew it for a damn fact, that this was his Swan song, and he was going now, before these evil Sons of Bitches had the chance to take anyone else. Damn them – and damn himself to hell!

Dean's gasp was audible as he heard the horrible cracking sound and witnessed the unnaturally fluid turn of Perkins head in his direction. The moment he made eye contact with the older hunter's already vacant, glazed eyes, he knew the other man was dead. Time slowed in that way his Dad had described on the brief occasions he spoke about the war and the effect allowed Dean to view several things all at once. The young blond watched Mac dive frantically for his downed fellow hunter, he heard Pastor Jim order Sammy to "stay put" loudly from some point further up the corridor. But what took centre stage in his attention was the haunted grimace on Damien's face. He was familiar with that emotion in the teenager; it usually preceded some foolish plan to make amends when Damien felt he screwed up. Guilt played a big part in all their lives, but as the dark haired psychic flung himself towards the wall protecting him from the magnificent New York skyline, Dean felt utter dread wash over him. Damien could be his own worst enemy at the best of times... this was bad, Dean knew in his heart that his best friend was in trouble. Acting as if on auto pilot the boy crouched down to where Mac hovered over Perkins, in a deft move he claimed the dead hunter's gun and before Mac could piece together what was happening, he fired one shot at point blank range into the network of cracks Mac and Perkins best efforts had produced.

Without any further thought for the shards of glass melting round him, some catching his forearms and face Dean Winchester walked through the breaking door. He was drawn to his best friend like a magnet and as fast as he was moving he was acutely aware that he would not reach Damien fast enough.

"Caleb?" Dean hollered his voice torn and heavy with fear.

The Psychic paused and seemed to register him.

"He's dead right? I killed him Deuce, I'm a kill..." the end of the sentence was snatched away by the hitch in the older boy's voice.

Dean eyed the posture of his friend wearily. Everything about his body language screamed fight or flight, with flight seeming to win out. He needed to get Reaves away from the ledge before his dark thoughts dragged him down, figuratively and literally. For the first time in a long time Dean felt his age – what could he do? He was no expert, he didn't even have a full grasp of whatever evil son of a bitch was assailing his friend … he had nothing, his friend was too torn and fragile right now for his clumsy attempts at a rescue, who was he kidding?

The young boy shook his head, as the shiver of utter defeat rolled over him. Digging his fingernails into his palms he tried to reach out to Damien because that was his job – this was more than his best friend this was his brother, and no emo charged whiny bitch moment, was going to allow him to screw this up.

"Damien, you need to step towards me. There is something out here, I feel it – I feel off, and I only got the ten second intro. Man if this is what's been stalking you … Dad is on it, but we need you to come towards the house, you're exposed out here. You know the rules – no hunting alone."

With shock Dean watched the dark haired youth's shoulders shake and a sob escape him.

"Back off Dean! We aren't the hunter's here... Don't you get it? I can't risk anyone else... I won't lo...loose anyone else..."

Caleb's voice was so choked with pain that Dean took an instinctive step forward wondering if the psychic was suffering from a physical wound from one of his earlier misadventures. Reaves growled tensing further and hunching into the wall like it was his only means of staying upright.

"Please Dean- Stay back; they have already picked you next... God I'm... I'm begging you man... can't hold them off much lon, longer..."

The older boy glanced over his shoulder at his young friend and effectively stopped Dean Winchester like a freight train. Caleb's eyes were streaming as he openly wept with the strain of battling against some unseen force. There was blood lazily trickling from his nose and the level of anguish he saw in the teenager who had become big brother and protector to him since he was six years old, was unbearable.

"Damien" Dean breathes the name out exhaling the prayer "Walk to me. It's me man, after all this time and all your three musketeer bullshit, all those lectures about trust... Caleb, move away from the wall, you don't need to be there man. You belong here with your family Caleb, walk to me!"

Dean felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder and looked up into Mac's suffering face. The Scholar was allowing Dean to take the lead in this rescue at deep personal cost Dean realised. Talking people through extreme emotional situations was part of Mac's real world job, but the Doctor recognised a life preserver when he saw one. Mac was acknowledging that Dean was their best chance at saving his son. That pressure right there, made Dean want to hurl up every morsel of junk food he'd ever eaten. But that would come later; right now he had a job to do.

/

Joshua scrambled out from under the dead woman like he was being burned with acid. Part of him wasn't entirely sure he wasn't being marked in some way on a spiritual level being this close to her as it was. Her skin had begun to blacken when John had driven his knife in her throat but between Winchester's silver blade and Singer's brass tipped salt filled bullet... it was a close call. Sawyer glanced down at his right palm at the crushed glass embedded in his skin where he'd broken Le Harve's pendant in his own hand and mused. A very close call.

John watched the long haired young hunter closely. He thought to reach out and help Sawyer up and out from under the dead bitch, but the ashen pallor of the other man held him back. The knight wanted to assess his fellow hunter's status. He didn't understand magic and he liked it even less, that it had played as large a part in this hunt as it did, but for Caleb's sake he had to be through. As the younger man went to straighten up and immediately proceeded to fold in half it was only the ex-marines quick reflexes that saved his pretty face from becoming acquainted with the floor. John cursed as he took pretty much all the kids weight and gently lowered him to a lying position, before he could holler to the third man in his team; Singer appeared at his side.

"Come on Slick" Bobby grunted slapping the side of the sweating man's face. "No place for a power nap!"

John watch the man on the floor throw Singer an evil look but the venom was distilled by his profuse sweating and increasingly loud laboured breathing.

"Hey, hey …. Josh, what's going on with you?" John asked in a rising voice tinged with concern.

Sawyer lifted his right hand to Singer gasping out the words, "Blood,d m,mag,gic..."

Singer nodded grimly understanding as he watched the dark stain under the skin of Joshua' palm spread. Looking around gratefully the mechanic noted that the architecturally decorative pillars that they had chosen to take the Witch of Endor down behind were concealing their drama.

John slapped his shoulder.

"What'ya hitting me for ye idgit?" Bobby groused taking firm hold of the downed hunter's arm.

"What the hell is he rambling about – is he ok?" John growled as if it was the most stupid question he'd ever had to answer.

"Hurry – Winchester... he, her hounds have Ca, Ca...leb." Joshua sucked in air like a fish out of water.

Bobby shoved something between Joshua's teeth and flicked out his hunting knife.

"Bite hard Slick, I don't know how deep this glass goes or how many pieces ..."

Sawyer half heard Bobby but was rapidly beginning to view another in his mind's eye. He knew the figure instantly; he felt the utter desolation of this miserable soul and shuddered as he clearly saw the two hounds that were drawing so close to the man near the ledge they were practically breathing down his neck. With a determined growl he twisted his hand up and into Singer's knife pulling his limb towards himself and effectively slitting his own palm as he went. The last words he got out were a half breathed; "Too slow". The last sound he heard as he began to succumb to blood loss induced blackness was Bobby's Singer's startled oath. Joshua hopped they were in time.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N;** Last chapter, can't believe that I finally put this one to bed! Thank you to all reviewers and those who added alerts, you really gave me a boost of confidence to break that writers block. Thanks again guys - hope you enjoy! Abi.

* * *

**Sympathy for the Devil- CH 14**

"_I know some people say that I'm the devil in disguise, I won't try to tell you that I ain't. I don't like believing that I'm evil in your eyes but I ain't make believing I'm a saint." – _Kris Kristofferson, 'Shake hands with the Devil.'

Watching the young blonde boy attempt to reason gently with his unresponsive son was an acute role reversal in Mackland Ames' mind. It drew him back through the years, to the boys first meeting, and then a later point at Pastor Jim's farm when Caleb had the first real breakthrough connecting with the then traumatised, five year old Dean. Mac's heart ached as he watched them. But Dean's presence appeared to have a calming effect on Caleb's dangerously erratic emotional state and he would not risk the fragile balance the younger boy had restored.

The young psychic was still way too close to the ledge for the Doctor's liking, both literally and figuratively. But then Ames' fears would not be quieted until he could put his arms round Caleb and comfort him, himself. Right now, as he edged slowly towards the murmured conversation in front of him, he had to keep a tight rein on his own compulsion to sweep in.

"It's alright Damien; maybe you don't hear anything because they are gone? Maybe Dad got to his target?" Dean supplied in a reasonable tone.

Caleb shook his head tersely, his glassy gaze fixed on the floor.

From somewhere Mac could hear a mobile ringing, the tone sounded vaguely familiar.

Without looking up and in a disembodied monotone that seemed resigned to only one course of action, Reaves whispered something to Dean.

"What was that? Damien? What... was that?" the boy urged gently drawing closer to the older youth.

Reaching out a tentative hand Dean swabbed away the blood trickling down his friend's nose. Tears sprang in his eyes at the definite flinch in the other boy. His unshakable protector had taken so much in silence had suffered so much alone to protect his family. It scared Dean more than a little seeing this broken side of Caleb, the one he kept so well hidden by masking his pain with the need to stop the hurt of others. Whether he'd ever admit it to the meat head or not …. the older boy crouched foetal style in front of him, was one of Dean's hero's. After all Caleb had lived through, Dean was terrified of what this latest episode and yet another death of someone connected with him, would do to Damien. Even Superman had chinks in his armour.

Dean knew that he didn't have Pastor Jim's way with words, he didn't have Mac's psychology know how, he didn't have Bobby's experience of practical coping methods – and whatever black straps meant? Hell he didn't even have the heart to holler at Caleb and demand that the exposed soul in front of him "suck it the hell up" like his Father may have done. So he did the one thing that every nerve in his body had wanted to do ever since Damien had walked on to the balcony; he leaned in and threw his arms round his best friend and growled something fiercely, with his mouth close to Damian's ear. The reaction was immediate as Caleb clung to Dean in response; his shaking shoulders the only give away as to how hard he was crying.

Mac realised that, the "far-away" familiar sound was in fact the mobile in his pocket and answered it swiftly brushing away salt water and coughing gruffly before answering.

"Yes Joh... Your where? Is Joshua alright did she...? "

The Scholar's face reddened but he let out a sigh of relief that another member of their group had not been lost.

"Yes – Caleb is fine, but John..."

Mac glanced one last time at the two friends huddled protectively round each other and decided to take his report to the knight in doors. On his way in doors he passed close by the body of Perkins and gently lowered the dead hunter's lids.

We've lost Perkins. I think it best if you all come back as soon as Joshua gets the all clear."

As he walked over to sit on the bed Ames listened to the Knights further instructions about how to "handle" the repercussions of their run in with the Witch, but he couldn't draw his eye away from Perkins' too still form.

/

Ceilings held a curious fascination when you came to. As your mind met the waking world again, and tentatively took in the sights, the view of the sameish landscape of the roof over your head always held the promise that your world had not, in fact caved in for the last time. Although the radiating soreness in every inch of his body and the headache that promised to hold the same commitment to him as an old married couple celebrating their diamond wedding anniversary; helped Reaves realise that he was in the land of the living just as thoroughly. Even if he wasn't the most convincing specimen.

He moved his gaze slowly, willing his head not to roll off his neck, as his malfunctioning psychic abilities informed him he was not alone and then promptly blinked off, leaving him to guess who the visitor was. He took in the gentle smile and the relief behind the older man's warm smile and was a little startled at who they belonged to.

"Jo-J-Johnny?" he rasped in a voice that sounded like Kermit after he'd been doing whiskey, gravel shots all night.

His mentor shook his head knowingly and laid a surprisingly tender hand on his upper arm.

"Easy Junior, I won the coin toss to wait on your sleepy ass, by throwing my weight and position around. But I'm pretty sure if I let you strain yourself, or pull a fingernail; your Daddy **will** have my ass!"

The teasing smile slipped a little at the edges and Caleb received another jolt of psychic insight into just how scared John had actually been for him. He watched the other man continue talking, in something like dumbstruck amazement.

"I argued with your Dad over the timing of this, but de-briefing after any event or mission is a priority. Especially one which risked..."

"The Brotherhood..." Caleb supplied softly his head hanging in shame at the threat that he had not only exposed them all to but the danger he had potentially posed himself.

"Now that right there son, is why Dean always gets the extra cookie... Don't interrupt! I was going to say – it risked one of us; one of our own family."

"It cost one of us... I cost one of us, John. I kept quiet – again, and someone died...again." Caleb couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice as he confessed his stupidity to the Knight.

John surveyed the haggard looking young man in the bed before him. He had seen where this kind of self recrimination led. He'd also experienced it first hand in the war... Caleb needed more than just a hug and a band-aid. Right now he needed absolution, and something to focus on. John could administer both far more effectively than either of the other two Triad members, because when all was said and done the Knight was the strong arm of the Brotherhood; and he was the Knight because of the type of ruthless bastard he could be.

"Perkins loss was a blow to us all, kid – I don't intend to flog you any-more than you seem intent on doing to yourself. But – if you've learned something from it – then it was not in vain."

"I got a hunter killed John. What possible comfort can his family draw from my stupidity?" Caleb's voice trembled dangerously as a tear slipped past his very best defences.

John sighed realising that he would not win this one the easy way and there was no way in hell he was losing Caleb to this.

"What do you want to hear kid? It's a tough gig. Perkins knew this he racked up and took it out anyway, because he believed in what we do! Do you want me to tell you, you screwed up? Fine – you screwed the pooch Junior... what the hell are you going to do about it?"

The Knight watched the words drive into the young man before him like shrapnel from a claymore, twisting deeply into his soul because they were delivered from such close range. He watched as the pain gave way to a fire that sparked behind those golden eyes which had always looked at him like he was a superhero. He watched as it finally, slowly, dawned on his protégée that being the Knight was not all shining armour. More often, it was cold hard sacrifice, and none was colder or harder than the sacrifices of those closest to you for the cause you championed.

Hating himself that fraction more Winchester delivered the final blow.

"What _did_ Perkins die for Caleb? Once you can answer that for yourself – then you're ready to join the ranks, and fill the void created today."

John's voice was steady, neutral and in utter contrast to the feelings of shame clawing at his insides. But he had to channel Caleb's guilt and direct it, before Caleb turned it on himself. Reaves was necessary to the Brotherhoods future, and though he loved the boy like he was his own blood – readying him for what lay ahead of him was the best he could do for the kid now.

As the veteran hunter got up to leave he avoided looking at the boy. He needed a drink, he needed a shower – he needed to get out from under the weight of the unshed tears he knew instinctively Caleb was fighting to hold back. He was a bastard, but he was the bastard that would keep his family prepared for whatever the other side could throw at them. He might lose Junior's admiration, but to lose the boy himself was more than John could bear. Sometimes John wondered a little if the harshest demons in their lives were those they themselves created.

The best he could hope for was that Junior would be able to look back at this one day and realise that it was the only way John knew how to do things …. He prayed that someday, Caleb and his boys would understand enough to be able to forgive him.


End file.
